


carried away

by thistidalwave



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Excessive Furniture Shopping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 05:05:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13710447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thistidalwave/pseuds/thistidalwave
Summary: Connor grabs Auston’s phone right out of his hand, his heart beating triple time in anticipation as he taps the notification. Having Dylan on the Oilers would be a dream come true. It’s something Connor has wished for a million times, even though—The page loads, and Connor lets out his breath all in a rush. It’s not Dylan Strome that’s been traded to the Oilers, it’s Ryan Strome. That’s… disappointing, but also weirdly relieving.





	carried away

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to Elissa for pitching this concept to me (damn you) and, when I decided it Needed to exist (fuck), holding my hand the whole way through writing it (<3). ty for being a changed person with me after rystro dared exist in front of our faces.
> 
> Thank you to Becca and Lily for their invaluable insight and beta work. Also cheers to my Twitter feed for the enthusiasm and encouragement every time I complained! I would apologize for this self-indulgent nonsense, but I am not sorry at all.

**Prologue — June 2017**

“This,” Connor says to Auston, staring down at the eggs in the buffet and feeling vaguely nauseous, “is your fault.” 

He means it. He wouldn’t be hungover right now if it weren’t for Auston telling him multiple times at the awards afterparty last night that he was a multi-award-winning NHL player who deserved to get wasted. Auston is a damn liar. Nobody deserves this. Fuck Las Vegas.

“No fuckin’ way,” Auston says without looking up from his phone. Connor is about to shoot back a _yes way_ , but Auston elbows him in the side before he can. “Look at this, dude.”

“Ow, fuck you,” Connor says. “What?”

Auston turns his phone so that Connor can see the push notification on the screen. “Fucking Strome got traded to the Oilers? Better your team than mine.” 

Connor rolls his eyes, well-acquainted with Auston’s vendetta against Dylan thanks to their mutual interest in Mitch. “Petty, much?” he says before Auston’s words sink in and he actually focuses on what the notification says. His stomach turns for an entirely different reason. “Wait, _what_? Dylan straight up for Ebs? That can’t be right.” 

He grabs Auston’s phone right out of his hand, his heart beating triple time in anticipation as he taps the notification. Having Dylan on the Oilers would be a dream come true. It’s something Connor has wished for a million times, even though— 

The page loads, and Connor lets out his breath all in a rush. It’s not Dylan Strome that’s been traded to the Oilers, it’s Ryan Strome. That’s… disappointing, but also weirdly relieving. 

It’s been a long time since Connor really thought anything would come of his huge, stupid crush on Dylan, but if he were on the same team as Connor again… well, it would be easy to let himself fall right back in. 

“It’s not Dylan, you idiot,” he tells Auston, handing him back his phone. “It’s his older brother.” 

Auston looks at his phone again and makes a disbelieving noise. “Oh, Jesus. I guess I’m more hungover than I thought.” 

“I bet you think about Dylan more than Mitch does,” Connor says just to hear Auston splutter in protest. 

“Whatever,” Auston says when he’s recovered from being indignant. “Stop standing in front of the eggs if you’re not going to take any.” 

Connor moves out of the way and pulls out his own phone. He means to text Ebs, but after a second of staring, he still doesn’t know what to say. He settles for sending a sad emoji and the blue and orange circles. There’ll be time to talk to Jordan for real later this summer, anyway.

At least being welcoming is way simpler than saying goodbye. He can’t remember the last time he actually used Ryan’s number, but he’s still got it in his phone, so he opens a new text thread and starts typing.

_Hey, welcome to the team! Do you think rogers place is gonna feel like the driveway now? Let me know if I can help with anything._

 

**One**

Ryan arrives in Edmonton on a warm Thursday afternoon in September. It’s not his first time in the city as a member of the Oilers; he came in August to be part of skills camp and talk to the media. He took that time to find a place to live as well, but it’s entirely different to actually be staying here. His condo is full of boxes he had shipped from New York, all the pieces of his life that sneakily built up over the years, and he packed them up too recently to want to unpack them again now.

By Saturday morning, Ryan is an expert at avoiding unpacking. He’s also incredibly bored, because there isn’t much else to do at his place _but_ unpack, and he can only watch YouTube videos on his phone for so long. 

He should probably go shopping for furniture and things, but the truth is, he really doesn’t want to deal with being here quite yet. Exciting new opportunity or not, it sucks to have his life uprooted, and he’s still holding on to a bit of that resentment.

Ryan’s starting to annoy himself by thinking like that, though, and that on top of the boredom has him thumbing through his text messages and opening his thread with Connor. He might as well get a head start on making friends with his new teammates, and if anyone knows which of the guys are in town and might be free to hang out, it’ll be his team captain.

Looking at their last texts reminds Ryan of just how weird it is to think about his kid brother’s best friend being the captain of his NHL team. Sure, he’s always been the exceptional Connor McDavid, but Ryan found Connor’s joke about the driveway from back in June amusing mostly because it was so on the nose. Ryan really does associate him with playing street hockey and kicking around the house in the offseason. He doesn’t know if it’s going to make Rogers Place feel like his driveway so much as it’s going to be hard to get used to.

That’s a problem for another day, though. Ryan pushes the thought out of his mind and types out a text. _Hey Davo! Got into Edmonton a couple days ago and bored already_ You know of anyone else around? 

Connor doesn’t text back immediately, which is fine, even if it does mean Ryan spends a few minutes alternating staring at the ceiling and checking his phone before he gets up off his bed and goes to look in his fridge. It’s pretty much empty, because Ryan is apparently trying to earn an award in bad adulting. Thankfully, Ryan’s phone buzzes in his hand before he does something dumb like ordering lunch instead of making a grocery list. 

_I’m sure some guys are in town, I can give u their numbers? I’ll be around tomo in the morning too if you want help settling in? Why are you bored, tired of unpacking?_

Ryan leans against his kitchen counter to type his response. _Been avoiding doing that!!! And also buying furniture, oops. Definitely wouldn’t mind hanging tomorrow if you’re free_

Connor’s response is prompt this time. _Hahaha maybe we can do something about the furniture?_

Ryan makes a face, but the universe is probably sending him a message through Connor, and that message is that he needs to own more than just a bed. Nevertheless, he’s hesitant in his response: _Sure you want to go through that with me? I have a lot of opinions!!_

_I’m sure I can handle your opinions. Hows 10 sound?_ , Connor texts back. 

Ryan is pretty sure Connor has no idea what he’s in for, but he texts back his approval anyway. At this point, he’s not going to be picky about what gets him out of the house.

 

“You know,” Connor says, “when you said you have a lot of opinions, I didn’t know that meant you were this particular about what your couch looks like.” 

Ryan looks unfazed by Connor’s complaint. “Hey, I warned you,” he says. “Besides, it’s not just what it looks like. I have to consider comfort, function, size… all that stuff.”

Connor is well-aware of this, seeing as they’ve already been in The Brick for over half an hour. Connor is pretty sure the saleswoman who was helping them is now in the backroom self-medicating after all the questions Ryan threw at her, and Connor can’t even blame her. If Ryan were anyone else, Connor would be annoyed, but he mostly just feels right at home next to an overdramatic Strome. 

“I know,” he tells Ryan in his best reassuring tone. “What are the essentials again?” 

“Well, comfort is definitely number one, and the only way to be sure about that is to try them out,” Ryan starts. “Besides that, the material has to be easy to clean, because I’m probably going to have the guys come over at some point and you _know_ they’ll make a mess. But it shouldn’t be easy to claw at, either, because what if I want to get a cat someday? Not that I’m planning on it, but you never know. Plus obviously it has to fit in my living room, I probably should’ve listed that first…”

Connor bites the inside of his lip, trying not to laugh as Ryan continues rambling. Ryan goes off on a tangent about something new every time he tries to list his essentials, and it’s hilarious. Connor should have known that Ryan wouldn’t have any chill, considering how well Connor is acquainted with Dylan’s particular lack of it… but then again, Dylan definitely couldn’t give less of a fuck about home decor.

Ryan cuts himself off in the middle of whatever he was saying about positioning furniture in his living room and narrows his eyes at Connor. “Are you even listening?”

“Not anymore,” Connor says honestly. 

Ryan looks amused. “This really is important shit to take into consideration, you know.”

“Sure, absolutely,” Connor agrees.

Ryan rolls his eyes, which makes him look even more uncannily like Dylan than usual, and Connor bites the inside of his lip to stop himself from laughing. Ryan heads toward one of the couches he hasn’t yet tested and sits down on it. Connor stays where he is, watching as Ryan puts his hand on the arm rest and shifts around a bit.

“Stop looking at me,” Ryan says. “I can’t do this with you looking at me like that.” 

Connor can’t help it; he bursts out laughing. Ryan gives him an unimpressed look, which is even funnier, especially since he’s definitely hiding a smile behind it. “Sorry, sorry,” Connor gasps out, trying to get ahold of himself. “Where else am I supposed to look?”

“I don’t know, just stop being so unhelpful and at least sit on the damn things instead of standing there laughing,” Ryan says, getting up. 

“Sir, yes, sir,” Connor teases. He picks a nearby blue couch that looks particularly cushy and sits down on it. “This seems nice.” 

Ryan comes over and surveys the length of the couch, then looks down at Connor. “No.”

“No?” 

“Definitely not,” Ryan says. “You look like you’re going to get lost in it.”

“It’s comfortable,” Connor argues.

Ryan is already walking away. Voice raised, he says, “Yeah, tell me that when you’ve played a back to back and you still have to haul yourself off it.”

Connor’s not about to admit it, but it _is_ kind of hard to get himself off that couch. He trails after Ryan, sitting down on all the same couches Ryan does and dutifully reporting whether or not he thinks they’re comfortable. 

It only takes a few minutes for Connor to realize that it’s a lot funnier if he makes outlandish comments about the couches, because Ryan actually seems to humour him where Dylan would just ignore him outright. “I don’t know about this one,” Connor says of a dark grey sectional. “It kind of makes my left butt cheek feel higher than the right.” 

“Are you serious?” Ryan asks. “That’s weird.”

“Absolutely,” Connor deadpans.

Ryan looks at him suspiciously, but he still moves on to another couch. Connor follows. “Hey,” he says after a moment of sitting quietly on that one, “I think we’ve been testing these wrong.” He rolls so that his back is on the couch and puts his feet up and over the back of it, head hanging off the front. “This is prime couch positioning, right?” 

Ryan laughs. “You look fucking stupid, get your feet down.” 

Connor gets his feet down. “I thought you wanted help,” he says innocently.

“We’re leaving,” Ryan says decisively. “I’m clearly driving McJesus to an early grave, and I can’t have that on my shoulders.” 

“Are you sure?” Connor asks. Despite his antics, he’s not hating his life. “I don’t actually want to get in the way of your pursuit of the perfect couch.” 

Ryan shrugs. “Yeah, I don’t think the perfect couch is here, anyway.”

That, at least, sounds believable to Connor. “Okay, but let’s at least get you something to do at your place, though. A TV? You can’t possibly be as difficult about TVs.” 

It turns out that Ryan can, in fact, be as difficult about TVs. He might actually be worse, if the obsessive googling on his phone is any indication.

“Can’t you just get the most expensive one or something?” Connor despairs.

“And have it break in a month?” Ryan asks. “No, I have to check reviews. I need to make sure I’m getting a quality product.”

“Jesus,” Connor murmurs under his breath. It probably says something about him that he thinks Ryan being so picky is actually more cute than annoying, but he’s definitely not entertaining that thought. He leaves Ryan in the aisle by himself and goes to find a salesperson. Maybe one of them will know how to talk sense into Ryan—or at least be persuasive enough that Ryan actually makes a decision. 

_Has Ryan always been a picky motherfucker? Trying to buy a tv right now ,_ Connor texts Dylan while Ryan is interrogating the salesman Connor found.

Dylan responds promptly with all-caps laughter, which pretty much answers that question.

The salesman does a good job up until the part where he looks away long enough that Ryan has time to look up reviews of the TV he just all but agreed to buy. “This doesn’t seem good, does it?” Ryan asks, shoving his phone under Connor’s nose. Connor squints at the review, which as far as he can tell is just someone having trouble with the connecting cables.

“That’s probably written by a senior citizen who refuses to get with the times and doesn’t know what they’re doing,” Connor points out. 

Ryan doesn’t look convinced. “I just have a bad feeling about this, I don’t know.”

He doesn’t end up buying a TV, either, and Connor has to apologize to the confused salesman as they’re leaving. He looks at Ryan in the parking lot, exasperated and amused. “A _bad feeling_? It’s a TV, man, how bad could it be? And have you ever heard of a return policy?” 

“Sure have,” Ryan says, flashing Connor a big grin. “I just don’t know how you expected me to pick out a TV without knowing where it’s going to go, which depends on the entertainment centre, which depends on a couch.”

Connor stops dead next to his car. “Wait a second, you weren’t going to get one no matter what? But you were taking it really seriously in there.”

“Was I?” Ryan asks, widening his eyes innocently.

Connor punches Ryan in the shoulder. “ _Yes_ , you troll, what the fuck.”

“I dunno, man, you just seemed really excited about TVs. Didn’t want to disappoint,” Ryan says. He’s still grinning, and Connor should really not be finding it as charming as he is.

He sighs, affecting annoyance. “If I take you to lunch right now, are you going to be like this about the burgers?” he asks.

Ryan shrugs. “No, a burger is a burger.” 

Connor stares at Ryan, unable to decide whether he’s horrified or relieved by that statement. He settles for just getting in the car without saying anything. Ryan follows suit, his expression making clear he knows that he just broke Connor and is pleased with himself for it.

By the time they’re done with lunch, Connor is determined that they’re going to get something out of this shopping trip. “What _don’t_ you have opinions about but still need? We’ll just get you some basics.”

“Uh, I have opinions about everything, I think,” Ryan says. “Sorry, I really can’t help it.” 

Connor sighs. “At least you’re sorry,” he says, even though Ryan doesn’t look like he’s actually sorry at all. “Let’s just go to Wal-Mart, eh?” 

They go to Wal-Mart and wander around the home section, Connor pointing out various things and getting every single one shot down by Ryan. “How did you ever end up with a bed, even?” Connor despairs when Ryan refuses a perfectly nice, boring grey throw pillow.

“I had it shipped,” Ryan says. “You have no idea how long it took me to buy that fucking thing.” 

Connor laughs. “Seriously? Why didn’t you ship anything else?” 

Ryan shakes his head. “It was all John’s,” he says. “I really didn’t know how picky I can be until I bought my bed, and JT swore to never ask me anything to do with the furniture after that.” 

Connor laughs even harder at that. He expects Ryan to flip him off the way Dylan would, but Ryan just smiles and starts looking at empty picture frames. 

“Okay,” Connor says, forcing himself to calm down. He surveys the aisle they’re in, nods to himself, and marches down to the end of it, where he picks up the least ornate lamp in sight. “You’re getting this.”

Ryan opens his mouth, that all-too-familiar look of protest written all over his face, and Connor shakes his head. “Don’t argue with me. The lamp goes home with you.”

Ryan closes his mouth and shrugs. “Fine,” he says. He takes the lamp from Connor and looks at it with something akin to mild disgust. “I suppose it’s not so bad.”

“That’s a lie, but I don’t want to hear a single word about it,” Connor says. 

To his credit, Ryan actually does buy the lamp. Connor kind of expects him to just abandon it at the checkout in protest, especially when Connor ends up having to talk to a group of fans who want about twenty pictures and don’t care if Ryan is in any of them, but it makes it all the way back to Ryan’s condo with him. 

“I’m sorry we didn’t get you any furniture,” Connor says as he puts the car in park outside Ryan's place. It’s not at all his fault, obviously, but he does feel bad for not actually accomplishing what they set out to. He’s pretty sure that’s not good captain protocol. 

“Ah, it’s cool, I just wanted out of my place,” Ryan says. “If I feel the need to sit on a couch, I’ll come to your house.” 

“Sure,” Connor agrees quickly. “Text me whenever.”

Ryan laughs. “It’s fine, I was kidding. I’ll get furniture eventually.” 

“I wasn’t,” Connor says firmly. The last thing he wants is for Ryan to feel unwelcome here; even beyond Connor’s captainly duty, he feels like he owes him that much. He’s Dylan’s brother, so it’s the least Connor can do. “Seriously, you’re welcome anytime.”

Ryan hesitates for a moment, just looking at Connor, before he nods. “Okay. Thanks, Davo.”

“No problem,” Connor says.

He watches as Ryan gets out of the car and waits until he’s safely inside before he starts backing away.

 

Connor invites all the guys who will be at training camp over to his and Darnell’s house the night before. It’s an informal thing where they hang out in the backyard and have a couple drinks, nothing too crazy before they’re in for fitness tests and the like the next day, but Connor likes to be able to catch up beforehand and make sure the new guys feel welcome. Luke and Taylor did it for him, so he’s just paying it forward.

Connor is debating with Darnell about whether or not there’s enough space in the fridge for people to put drinks when Pat lets himself in the front door.

“Hey, boys,” Pat says, nodding in greeting.

“Nice to see you, dude,” Darnell says. “How’s it been going?” 

“Where’s Ryan?” Connor asks, peering over Pat’s shoulder and seeing no one else on the doorstep before the door swings shut behind Pat. Ryan mentioned that his car hasn’t arrived yet when they were texting, so Connor enlisted Pat to pick him up on his way over. 

“Good to see you, too, Davo,” Pat says, exchanging an amused look with Darnell. “The new boy is talking to a couple people outside, I left him to do intros alone. Or was I supposed to be both his driver _and_ his keeper?” 

“Uh, no, I guess not,” Connor says. “I was just… making sure.” 

Pat raises his eyebrows knowingly. “Kailer’s out there, too. I think Zack had him in a headlock.” 

“He what?” Connor asks, alarmed, and both Darnell and Pat laugh. Connor glares at them. 

“It’s fine, dude,” Darnell says. “I’m pretty sure the new sheep will make it in here just fine without you to play shepherd. Kass isn’t gonna hurt them.” 

Connor makes a face, but it’s not like Darnell’s _wrong_. Sure enough, a few moments later, Kailer comes in the door, his hair clearly askew. He’s followed by Zack, Leon, and Ryan. “Hey, you made it,” Connor says cheerfully. He sent Leon to make sure Kailer got here, so he shoots him a smile over Kailer’s shoulder. Leon gives him a thumbs up. “I heard these guys were hazing you already?” 

“It wasn’t me,” Zack says from behind Leon. 

Kailer shakes his head. “Nah, we were just saying hi,” he says. “Thanks for having me, I brought beer.”

“Perfect,” Connor says approvingly. “You can put it in the fridge if you want?” 

“Come on, man, I’ll show you,” Darnell says when Kailer nods, taking over directing Kailer to the kitchen. 

Ryan grins at Connor and pulls him in for a bro hug. “So this is my new second home, eh?” he asks when they pull back from it, and Connor laughs. “I brought you a gift as well. I thought you might want to be more prepared next time?” 

Connor frowns as he takes a glossy booklet from Ryan’s outstretched hand, and then grins when he reads the cover. It’s a furniture catalogue, complete with a tiny gift wrap bow stuck to the top. “I’m pretty sure I should let you keep this,” he says.

Leon leans over Connor’s shoulder to read the front of the catalogue. “I don’t get it,” he says. “Do you two already have an inside joke after thirty seconds?” 

“There is nothing inside about this joke,” Connor says. “Let me tell you all about how bad Ryan here is at picking out furniture.” 

“Oh God, here we go,” Ryan says. He rolls his eyes, but Connor can’t help but notice that he’s blushing a bit. It looks good on him, so it’s definitely not going to stop Connor from chirping the hell out of him. 

“So I took this idiot furniture shopping the other day—” 

“Sounds romantic,” Pat interrupts, teasing. “Thanks for the date idea, Davo.” 

“Shut up, I’m trying to tell my story,” Connor says. “He has _so many_ opinions about couches, I thought I was going to die of old age in the store. And _then_ —”

“Let me guess,” Zack says. “He didn’t buy anything?” 

Connor frowns. “Way to steal my punch line, but yeah.” 

Zack nods wisely. “The opinionated ones never do.” 

“It’s because we have standards, thanks,” Ryan says mildly. Despite his pink cheeks, he looks like he’s finding this whole conversation hilarious. 

“Are you gonna take this lying down?” Leon asks Ryan. “You must have a ton of dirt on Connor.” 

“Oh, hell yeah,” Ryan says, smirking. “That’s what happens when you’ve known someone since they were yea high and babyfaced, eh, Davo?” 

Connor cringes. “Can we not talk about my baby face?” 

“No, I’m interested,” Pat says. “Tell me more, Stromer.” 

Connor groans. “If you’re going to do this, I need a drink. Who’s with me?” 

That derails the conversation for a few minutes while they get drinks, and then even if Ryan and Pat _are_ discussing Connor’s baby face as they wander out to the backyard, at least Connor is too busy greeting people at the front door to hear it. Thank God for small miracles. 

 

For all everything in Edmonton is entirely different from New York, stepping out onto the ice for first skate is exactly the same as always. Ryan takes a lap around the ice before joining everyone at the centre of the ice to stretch. It has a calming effect, making him feel solid in his skates. That’s the real magic of hockey: in the face of his skate blades on fresh ice, everything else just melts away.

Connor nudges Ryan with his shoulder as they’re breaking off from centre ice to start on shooting drills. “Does it feel like the driveway yet?” 

Ryan smiles at him. “I’m not sure, I think we might need to get Dylan in net.”

“I heard that,” Cam says from just behind Ryan. “Don’t be giving baby Strome my job. One Strome per team is enough.”

“Hey, excuse you,” Ryan says, turning so he can see Cam, “one Strome per team is two Stromes too few.”

Connor snorts. “You mean one too many.”

Ryan mock gasps, putting a hand over his heart. “I’m offended, and I’m gonna tell Dylan you said that.” 

“Go ahead,” Connor says, giving Ryan a cheeky grin. “I’m not scared of Dylan.”

Ryan laughs even as his heart skips a beat. Fuck, Connor has a nice smile. “I don’t know if I could respect you if you were,” he admits.

“Okay, that’s enough flirting,” Cam says, forcing Ryan and Connor to back up as he skates in between them. “Time to get to work.” 

Connor laughs as he agrees and skates away, and Ryan follows to line up for the drill even as his mind sticks on the word _flirting_. He hasn’t been able to stop himself from noticing that Connor has grown up attractive, but that doesn’t mean he’s completely lost his head and started flirting with him, right? 

Ryan shoves the thought out of his mind. There’s no way. Cam was just making a joke, he didn’t mean anything by it. 

They have a good first session on the ice, but it does nothing to help Ryan shake his inappropriate thoughts. That’s probably too much to hope for, anyway; Ryan hasn’t really been able to stop thinking about it since Connor flipped himself upside down on the couch at the store and his shirt rode up. Ryan really doesn’t want to be feeling like this about the kid, but he can’t stop _looking_ at him, and when he looks like _that…_

Connor is across the room, talking to Kailer at his stall. He’s probably checking in with him, and Ryan wishes he could just appreciate that Connor is being a good captain instead of fixating on the stretch of Connor’s shirt across his shoulders, but, well—Ryan is only so strong.

Pat sits down next to Ryan and looks in the same direction as him. Ryan quickly looks away from Connor, yanking at the sock he was untaping before he got distracted. “Connor’s a good captain, eh?” he asks Pat, trying to sound casual about it.

“He really is,” Pat agrees. “Still having trouble reconciling him with that babyfaced kid that hung around with your brother?” 

“Something like that,” Ryan says, shrugging.

“Well, if there’s one thing I’ve learned about Connor playing with him for the last couple years, it’s that he’s anything but a kid,” Pat says. 

Pat’s comment is so fitting that Ryan almost laughs aloud. That’s exactly his problem: he doesn’t see the little punk Connor used to be anywhere in him now, and it’s dangerous. He’s not supposed to want to touch Connor beyond a friendly hug, and he’s honestly kind of afraid to put words to what he _actually_ wants to do, even just in his own head.

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that,” he tells Pat. It’s the understatement of the year.

 

Ryan can’t make himself stop noticing Connor.

It shouldn’t be that hard, especially since he’s immersed in learning new systems and getting to know new people at the rink during training camp, but—Connor is always _there_. It's really inconvenient for Ryan, but it's not like it's Connor's fault. He's just doing his job. Ryan is the one with a problem.

It would be one thing if Ryan just made a passing observation of how attractive Connor is, but he notices other things about Connor, too. He’s unfailingly generous with his time and encouragement, he’s bitingly witty when he wants to be, and worst of all, he’s really fucking good at hockey. Anybody would be hot for Connor on the ice, and it’s just Ryan’s luck that he can’t make himself look away off it, either.

Self-preservation tells him to limit contact as much as possible, so he should definitely not take Connor up on his offer of a couch to hang out on. An entirely different part of his brain points out that there’s no way Ryan can avoid the captain of his team for long. He needs to get used to hanging out with Connor while _not_ thinking about defiling him. 

The rest of his brain is just fucking bored at home, and it’s mostly that part that gets him texting Connor to make sure he’s free and then up off his ass when Connor confirms that he is. When he gets there, it’s Darnell who answers the door with a cheerful, “Hey, Stromer.”

“Hey, man, what’s up?” Ryan says. “Connor said I could come over anytime I needed a couch, so…”

“Yeah, totally, dude, come on in,” Darnell says, moving aside so that Ryan can do so. “Still no couch, eh? I feel you, furniture logistics are a bitch.” 

“You’re telling me,” Ryan says appreciatively. “Training camp is already kicking my ass, I don’t have time to think about that shit.”

“Amen,” Darnell says. “Davo and I were just playing Chel, you wanna tag in for me?”

“Sure, if that’s chill,” Ryan says.

Darnell nods, leading Ryan to the living room. “‘Course, man.” 

Connor is sitting on the edge of the couch, and he smiles and lifts a hand in greeting when he sees Ryan. Ryan smiles back and tries not to stare at his face, but his gaze catches on the spread of Connor’s thighs instead, which is infinitely worse. He looks away quickly and realizes that Darnell is offering him an Xbox controller, one eyebrow raised. Ryan takes the controller and prays that he’s not blushing.

Darnell flops down in an armchair, pulling out his phone, and Connor pats the couch next to him. “Ready to get wrecked?” he asks Ryan.

“You wish,” Ryan says, sitting down. 

It turns out that Connor is a massive fucking cheat. They’re only playing for a minute before he starts leaning into Ryan, clearly trying to throw him off his game. Ryan grits his teeth and focuses on the screen. It’s admittedly pretty difficult, but Ryan has brothers. He can do this. No big deal.

He manages to score two goals in a row, which gains him some satisfying complaints from Connor, and then Connor leans all the way into Ryan’s lap, trying to block his view of the screen.

Ryan’s fingers falter on the controller. Having brothers did not prepare him for this at all, because Connor’s body is warm against Ryan’s chest, he smells faintly woodsy, and Christ, his neck is _right there._ Ryan wants to forget the video game entirely in favour of just shoving Connor down onto this couch. _Dylan’s best friend,_ he reminds himself. _My captain. Fucking stop thinking—_

On the screen, Connor scores. He lets out a whoop. “Oh hell yeah, coming for your ass!”

Ryan belatedly shoves Connor off of his lap. “Fuck off, interference!” he protests, pausing the game.

“Yeah, Davo, you wanna give Ryan back some of his personal space?” Darnell asks. 

“Nah,” Connor says, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face as he leans back against Ryan. He unpauses the game, and Ryan immediately pauses it again.

“Look at this bullshit,” Ryan tells Darnell. “You gotta ref and stop this asshole.” 

Darnell raises his eyebrows, looking from Connor to Ryan and back again, and then smirks. Ryan immediately regrets saying anything. He feels like Darnell just saw all the dirty thoughts in Ryan’s head written all over his face. 

He pushes Connor away again and gets to his feet. “I’m gonna grab a drink, actually,” he says.

Ryan gets all the way into the kitchen before he realizes that he probably should have asked if anyone else wanted anything. Fuck, he couldn’t be more transparent if he tried. 

He opens the fridge and stares blankly into it, trying to compose himself. The cool air helps ground him a bit, but he can still feel the ghost of warmth where Connor was pressed against him. Ten minutes into hanging out with Connor and things are already bad news bears. Ryan’s life is a joke.

“What are you looking for?” Connor asks as he walks into the kitchen. 

Ryan nearly jumps out of his skin. “Uh, just, um, beer?” he says, and then he kicks himself internally. He neither wants nor needs a beer right now, for fuck’s sake.

Connor comes over to Ryan and rests a hand on his shoulder, leaning past him to pick up a bottle of beer from the top shelf right in front of Ryan’s face. Blessedly, he takes his hand off Ryan’s shoulder when he straightens back up. “You mean this?” Connor teases. 

Ryan wonders if Connor would stop him if he tried to climb into the fridge and close the door. It seems like the best course of action right now, especially when Connor’s face is this close to his. He swallows hard and nods. “Yeah, thanks.”

He knows he shouldn’t, but when he reaches for the bottle, he lets his fingers brush against Connor’s. He’s expecting Connor to let go right away, but he doesn’t, and they stand there for what feels like a long time but is probably only a few seconds before Darnell comes into the kitchen.

“Thanks, guys,” he says, grabbing the beer bottle right out of both of their hands. “Maybe stop flirting with the fridge door open, eh?” 

_Fuck_ , Ryan thinks even as Connor laughs. Ryan is pretty sure Darnell isn’t an actual mind reader and was just making a joke, but unlike when Cam did the same, this time it really _did_ feel like they were flirting. 

Ryan is so fucking screwed.

 

The Oilers finish the preseason hot, and the team is feeling good come puck drop on opening night in October. Unfortunately, they follow up a shutout win with two losses in a row, and the locker room is understandably dismal after dropping a 5-2 decision to Winnipeg. 

There’s not much for Connor to say after losses that everybody doesn’t already know, so he doesn’t. There’ll be time to go over what went wrong when they’re back at the rink for practice in a couple days. He makes sure to talk to Kailer before he leaves, though, and they’re still chatting when they make their way out of the rink. 

Connor catches sight of Ryan ahead of them and frowns to himself; he doesn’t remember Ryan saying anything in the locker room after the game. Thankfully, it’s not hard to duck out of his conversation with Kailer and jog ahead to catch up with Ryan.

“Hey,” he says when he comes up alongside him. “You’ve been quiet, you okay?” 

Ryan looks surprised. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, and Connor is impressed that he actually sounds it, too. “Sucks to not have a game for a few days, though, that’s gonna be boring.” 

“Yeah,” Connor agrees. “Let me know when you can’t stand your place anymore, eh? We can hang out.”

“Will do,” Ryan says. “See you later, Davo.” 

“See you,” Connor echoes.

Connor genuinely means to let Ryan text him first, but the next morning he can’t stop thinking about Ryan being bored in his empty condo, and eventually he gives in and texts Ryan himself to ask if he wants to go out somewhere. Ryan responds right away and agrees, which makes Connor think he had the right of it.

He feels like the best idea is to show Ryan around Edmonton, so he picks the most obvious place to start: West Edmonton Mall. Dylan has mentioned to him multiple times that he wants to see it, so Connor thinks it’s probably a pretty safe bet.

Ryan agrees when Connor suggests it, but his reaction when they actually get there is less one of awe and more of complete disinterest in the entire endeavour. “It’s definitely… big,” he says. They’re standing next to a directory kiosk, and he pokes at the screen until it brings up the pirate ship details. “Shouldn’t we be worried people are going to mob you? I’d say we should look at the seals or whatever, but that seems dangerous.” 

Connor shrugs. “It’s Tuesday morning, it’s not that busy.”

Ryan gives him a skeptical look and taps the directory again. “There’s the Oilers store,” he says after a moment, pointing at it on the map. “You wanna go there?” 

“Shut up, it’ll be fine,” Connor insists. “Where do you _actually_ want to go first?” 

“I don’t know, the food court?” Ryan says.

“Which one?” 

Connor stifles a laugh at the horrified look on Ryan’s face. “The closest one?” Ryan says. “I need so much more coffee to deal with this place.” 

They figure out where the closest place for coffee is and start toward it. The mall is definitely less busy than Connor has seen it before, and he didn’t get accosted those times. He’s pointing that out to Ryan when they turn a corner and see a large group of ladies wearing Oilers merch. At least three of them have very obvious 97s on their person.

“You were saying?” Ryan says, deadpan.

“Uh,” Connor says. He stops walking. The ladies are at the other end of the hall, and they haven’t seen him yet, but Connor is pretty sure the coffee is in that direction. “Maybe you’re right, we should go.”

“Nah, this is about to get hilarious,” Ryan says, and then he _keeps walking_ toward the group. He raises his voice and adds, “Hey, _Connor_ , which way was it to the food court again, _Connor_?” 

Connor grabs his arm and tries to pull him in the other direction, but he only succeeds in getting Ryan to stand still. “I’m not above hiding behind you,” Connor says, and then he does so, ducking to hide his face in Ryan’s neck. 

He expects Ryan to laugh and at least move away, if not actually push Connor toward the ladies, but Ryan just stands there. It’s a different reaction from all the other times Connor has deliberately gotten into Ryan’s space, and Connor finds that fascinating. Dylan is always so easy to read, but Connor hasn’t figured Ryan out yet. 

“Um,” Ryan says, and then he turns around and shoves Connor toward a hall off to the side. “They’re moving this way, go go go.”

Connor doesn’t waste time looking to see if Ryan is serious or not; talking to fans for what will probably be forever is not what he had in mind for this morning, so he practically books it toward the exit he can see in the direction Ryan pushed him. Ryan follows on his heels, and he laughs when they make it outside. “The look on your face, Jesus.”

“You’re the worst,” Connor says. He looks out at the parking lot, then up at the entrance number above the door they just walked out. “Any idea which direction the car is?” 

Ryan does the same thing, then shrugs. “Should we go back in and find the right exit?” he asks, smirking.

“No, thanks,” Connor says. He starts walking in the direction he thinks they might have parked in. At least they didn’t go down a level or anything, so they should be able to find the car eventually. 

Ryan follows him, still chuckling to himself every so often. He’s in pretty high spirits for someone who just got forced to leave without his coffee and is now being made to wander around a parking lot. Connor’s pretty sure Dylan would have murdered him by now—but then again, Connor is starting to think he should maybe stop making comparisons between Ryan and Dylan. 

“Who’s that looking at us?” Ryan asks suddenly, looking to their right. “Is that… another McDavid fan?!”

Connor automatically hunches and tries to hide his face in his coat, genuinely alarmed, and Ryan starts laughing all over again. Connor glares at him when he realizes there isn’t anyone there at all. “Why do you hate me?” he asks plaintively. 

“Aw, buck up,” Ryan says. “I just think your scared face is cute.” 

Connor blushes at that. It’s not the first time he’s felt like Ryan is flirting with him, but he’s not sure how intentional it is on Ryan’s part. He hopes, for both their sakes, that it’s not at all. Connor likes it way too much, and that makes him nervous. 

They find the entrance they’d gone in and then Connor’s car a few minutes after that. Connor buckles his seatbelt and turns the car on, then looks at Ryan. “Where to?” he asks. “I’m trying to show you Edmonton’s attractions, but I think if I take you near another crowd when you’re making jokes I’ll actually have an aneurysm.” 

Ryan snickers. “It was your idea,” he points out. “Maybe we should go somewhere outside? I haven’t actually been anywhere in the river valley yet, I hear that’s nice.” 

“The river valley it is,” Connor says, putting the car in gear. 

There’s an early fall chill setting in and a few stray rain clouds here and there, so it’s by no means perfect weather for a walk, but it’s not absolutely awful, either. Ryan seems a lot more excited about the scenic views of the autumn leaves than he did about the mall, which makes Connor feel like being outside is worth it. 

“It’s so quiet,” Ryan remarks when they’ve been walking for a bit. “It’s funny thinking that downtown is just over there when it feels like we could be out in the bush somewhere.” 

Connor nods. “Yeah, I guess so,” he says. “It’s definitely funny that all those crazy fans are just behind the trees somewhere.”

Ryan laughs. “Of course,” he says. “Edmonton’s certainly not the worst place to be traded to. Kinda cool to have people care so much.” 

“I dunno, I might prefer the sun in California,” Connor jokes. “I’d make a good Duck, wouldn’t I?”

“Shhhhh,” Ryan says, making an appalled expression, “Edmonton can hear you, you know. She has feelings.”

Connor snickers. “Edmonton knows I don’t mean it,” he says. He hesitates for a minute, then asks, “Are you actually liking it here, then?” 

“Sure, it’s been good so far,” Ryan says easily. “It’s different, obviously, but there’s nothing wrong with different.”

“Yeah,” Connor agrees. “I heard you found out on a plane, was that as bad as it sounds?” 

Ryan shakes his head. “It wasn’t too bad,” he says. “I kind of had a feeling beforehand, and at least on a plane you don’t have anywhere to go, so there’s lots of time to think about it and get used to the idea.”

Connor has had a fair few close friends traded, and he doesn’t think any of them have ever been in particularly good spirits about it as quickly as he knows Ryan has been. He’s pretty sure he’s being fair in thinking that all the Stromes wear their emotions pretty close to the surface, which makes him find Ryan’s seemingly relentless positivity all the more impressive. 

“I mean, obviously I do miss some things about New York, but being here really has been good,” Ryan continues. “I like everyone I’ve met, and I’m liking getting to know you better. Thanks for checking in, though. You’re pretty good at this captain thing, eh?” 

“I wasn’t just asking as the captain,” Connor protests. “I do genuinely want to know how you’re doing.”

Ryan looks at him, amused. “I know,” he says. “That’s _why_ you’re such a good captain.”

The compliment blossoms with warmth in Connor’s chest, and he has to look away from Ryan. “Thanks,” he says to a tree next to the walking trail.

“Of course,” Ryan answers. 

They come to the bottom of a set of stairs a couple minutes later, and when Ryan starts up them, Connor follows without questioning it. After what feels like forever, the stairs end at a small clearing above the tops of the trees, and Ryan stops there and sits down in the grass. 

From this vantage point, they have a pretty good view of the expanse of the river valley. Connor is about to say something about it when Ryan stretches out so he’s lying down, looking up at the sky. Connor pauses, looking down at him, and raises his eyebrows. “What did we come up here for if you’re not even going to look at the view?” 

Ryan grins up at him. “Hey, man, it’s all about the journey, not the destination,” he jokes.

Connor rolls his eyes and sits down next to Ryan. “Sure it is,” he says sarcastically, and Ryan laughs.

“Besides,” Ryan says after a moment, “even if I miss New York, this is always the same.” 

Connor frowns. “What is?” 

Ryan reaches up and tugs at Connor’s arm until Connor cooperates and lies down next to him. He points up at the sky. “This view.” 

“Oh,” Connor exhales, feeling like the air’s been knocked out of his lungs.

It’s a stupidly simple observation, but it’s not something that Connor would ever think about himself. Connor squints up at the sky, suddenly feeling remarkably present in his body. Ryan’s shoulder is pressed up against his, and the back of his hand brushes Connor’s when he lets it fall.

Connor hardly ever takes the time to slow down and just be somewhere, and he’s surprised to find that it’s comforting to lie here and think about the sky being the same no matter where they are. Hell, he doesn’t think he’s ever laid down in the grass and looked at the sky before in his life. It’s ridiculously charming that Ryan obviously does it often enough for it to be one of his first thoughts, and it makes something in Connor’s chest feel tight that he felt comfortable enough to share it with Connor.

Connor wonders how many other cities Ryan has done exactly this in over the years. He wonders what it would be like to do it with him again somewhere else. He thinks he’d like to, and that’s… Connor shouldn’t think about that.

He’s not sure how long they’ve been lying there when Ryan asks, “Ready to go?” He starts to sit up, and Connor puts his hand on his wrist to stop him. 

“Let’s take one more minute.”

 

Ryan is self-aware enough to admit that, even though he’s been in Edmonton for nearing two months now, he’s still avoiding being alone. It’s not exactly hard; he spends a lot of time at the rink as it is, and when he’s not there, it’s easy to invite himself over to Connor and Darnell’s house. His boring condo is the perfect excuse, and Ryan deliberately doesn’t think about how he could easily solve that problem if he just bought the contents of a living room already. 

The problem is that Ryan doesn’t _want_ to stay at home on his own. He was used to having JT around most of the time in New York, and adjusting to living by himself is a hurdle he isn’t quite ready to jump all the way over yet. It’s easier to take advantage of his teammates’ goodwill than to confront the fact that there are some things about moving to Edmonton that aren’t immediately easy.

It’s the usual restlessness in his own house combined with his lack of desire to cook that has him texting Connor after practice to ask for restaurant recommendations. Connor responds with a list of options quickly enough that Ryan only hesitates for a moment before asking if Connor wants to join him. 

_Yea ok_ , Connor replies. _Anything to avoid cooking._

_Exactly!!! Invite Nursey too??_

_He’s at his gfs The italian place near mine ok with u?_

_Idk,_ Ryan types, snickering to himself, _you sure we don’t have to drive to Calgary to hide from your fan club???_

Connor sends him the middle finger emoji in response, which isn’t any less amusing despite being what Ryan expected. 

Even though Ryan was joking about driving to Calgary, they do get strategically seated near the back of the restaurant Connor chose so that they’re away from the rest of the room. It’s definitely the desired level of discreet, but with the dim yellow lighting and the small table in the corner, Ryan finds himself getting distracted from reading the menu by Connor’s face, which is just… no. He can’t let the romantic mood lighting get to him like this.

Thankfully, the server comes by to take their orders before Connor can notice Ryan’s inability to stop the romantic mood lighting from getting to him. Ryan orders the special even though he has no idea what it is, and Connor orders eggplant parmesan.

“My mom makes a mean eggplant parm,” Ryan says when the server is gone, glad to have an obvious conversation starter. “I’ve given up trying to get it anywhere that’s not home.” 

“Oh yeah?” Connor says. “I should get a Trish special sometime, then.” 

“Definitely. I’d get you the recipe, but I think she’s just magic.” Ryan laughs, remembering, and adds, “Actually, JT tried to make it for me once. He was super proud of himself for getting the recipe from my mom on his own and following it precisely, but as soon as I sat down and tasted it he could tell he’d fucked up.” 

“Oh no,” Connor says, laughing. “How badly?” 

“That’s the thing, I have no idea,” Ryan says. “It should’ve been fine, but it just… wasn’t. Something about the sauce, I don’t know. To hear JT talk about it, though, he slaved _all_ day only for me to be totally unappreciative.” 

Connor shakes his head. “For shame, Ryan.”

“I said thank you!” Ryan protests. “It wasn’t like it was inedible, and it was a really nice thing for him to do.”

“Yeah, really nice,” Connor echoes. He looks at Ryan thoughtfully, like he’s gearing himself up to something. Ryan waits. “You don’t have to answer this, obviously, but… you and him…?” 

“Oh, no,” Ryan says immediately. He hesitates, wondering if he should elaborate, then decides to go for it. Connor wouldn’t be asking if he didn’t want to know. “I might’ve crushed on him a bit, but JT’s pretty straight, unfortunately.”

Connor winces. “Sorry, that sucks.”

“Don’t worry, it was a long time ago,” Ryan says, shrugging. 

The silence they lapse into is edged with awkwardness. Connor reaches for his water glass and sips at it, not meeting Ryan’s eyes. Ryan isn’t sure if Connor’s doing that on purpose or if Ryan just feels like it’s awkward because they started talking about feelings, which makes him all too aware of his own steadily growing feelings about Connor. He fumbles for something to say to alleviate the weird tension and settles on one of the things he knows they have in common.

“Have you talked to Dylan lately?” he asks. “You two were thick as thieves back in the day, do I just feel like I’ve seen less of the two of you together because you’re both busy?” 

“Uh…” Connor says. He’s still not looking at Ryan, and the tension gets impossibly worse as he lets the silence between words stretch out. Ryan is pretty sure now that it’s not just him. “I dunno, we’re still friends. I talked to him the other day.” 

“Did I ask the wrong question?” Ryan asks, baffled by Connor’s reaction. He thought it was pretty innocent, unless… “Did something happen between you two?” 

Connor looks about as startled by the question as Ryan is at himself for asking it, but the fact that he doesn’t immediately deny it is practically answer enough. Ryan is disturbed to find that he doesn’t like the thought of that at all. 

“It wasn’t a big deal, just, um… some feelings,” Connor says. “It was… it’s in the past. We really are still friends, we’re just busy like you said.”

He’s clearly avoiding the details, but Ryan is fine with that. He doesn’t want to think about whatever relationship Connor had with his brother, anyway, and he really doesn’t want to think about why that is, either. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re still friends,” Ryan says. “Hey, speaking of JT, he texted me a picture of my old room after he got it repainted. It’s godawful, you wanna see?” 

As topic changes go, it’s a pretty bad one, but to Ryan’s relief, Connor goes with it. “Yeah, let’s see,” he says, leaning in to look at Ryan’s phone screen when he pulls up the picture. “Oh, wow.”

“Right?” Ryan says. “I think it was supposed to be cream or something, but uh…”

“Way too… brown,” Connor says, tilting his head in consideration. “Is this just a shadow here?” 

Ryan leans in closer to see what Connor is pointing at. “I hope so,” he says after a moment. “It would be a shame if it were permanent.”

Connor laughs and looks up at Ryan. Ryan is suddenly all too aware of how close their faces are together. He should probably lean back again, but Connor doesn’t seem like he’s about to move, and Ryan’s loathe to be the first one. He clears his throat. “I was thinking about maybe painting my place.”

Connor gives him a disbelieving look. “You can’t pick out a _couch_ , but you want to go paint shopping?”

“What?” Ryan asks innocently. “You didn’t have fun trying out every couch in the store with me?”

Connor groans loudly and shoves at Ryan’s shoulder, grinning even as he shakes his head. Ryan sits back, smirking at Connor. It probably says something that their normal consists of teasing and being in each other’s space, but well—Ryan isn’t going to think too hard about it.

The conversation flows easily from there, and by the time they’ve finished their food and Ryan’s given in to self-indulgence and ordered dessert, he’s not even thinking about the tension from earlier.

Ryan smacks Connor’s hand with his fork as Connor tries to sneak his fourth bite of Ryan’s tiramisu. “You should’ve ordered your own,” he says, admonishing.

Connor raises his eyebrows and goes for it again, and Ryan whacks him with his fork a few times. Adorably, Connor flat-out giggles at that, dropping his own fork and grabbing Ryan’s hand to try and get him to stop. 

Ryan freezes, completely arrested by Connor’s hand on his and the way the corners of Connor’s eyes crinkle when he laughs. All those thoughts he’s been trying to suppress are unavoidable in the face of this.

He swallows hard and tries to regain his composure. “Fine,” he says, “one more bite.” 

The smug victory on Connor’s face at that isn’t any better.

 

When Ryan thought he had a Connor problem before, he had no idea how bad it could get. It’s not just that he gets distracted watching Connor anymore, it’s that he can’t stop thinking about him even when he’s not around—his hand on Ryan’s, how soft his hair looks, how his smile takes up half his face. 

The team heads east on a road trip, and Ryan loses hours of travel nap time trying to figure out how the hell he’s going to deal with this. One thing is definitely for sure: Ryan needs to immediately get over it if Connor has something going on with Dylan. He’s starting to regret not pressing Connor for more details, because the presence of “some feelings” could mean practically anything. Ryan took it to mean that they had something going on that couldn’t handle long distance, but he doesn’t _know_ , and the sliver of hope that stems from that uncertainty is driving him crazy.

Ryan ends up calling Dylan from his hotel room in Pittsburgh. He sits on the edge of the bed as the phone rings, nervously tapping his toe. He makes himself stop when Dylan picks up with a slightly confused, “Hello?”

“Hey,” Ryan says. “How’s it going? You busy right now?” 

“No, I’m just watching TV,” Dylan says. “What’s up?” 

Ryan really didn’t think this phone call through, and he has no idea how to even broach the subject of Connor, so he stalls. “Not a lot, I just thought I’d see how you’re doing. Have you talked to Mom lately?”

“Yeah, of course I have,” Dylan says. “I’m fine. Did she say something to make you think I’m not?” 

“Uh, no, nothing like that,” Ryan says. Dylan sounds slightly defensive, which makes Ryan think that he might actually not be entirely fine, but that’s not really unexpected when he’s still playing in Tucson. Ryan knows how frustrating that is from experience, and he’s not about to be annoying and make Dylan talk about it if he doesn’t want to, so he dodges the question. “You know how she complains that she doesn’t hear from us enough, that’s all.”

“Sounds like Mom, yeah,” Dylan agrees. “So… how are you? How’s Edmonton?” 

“It’s good,” Ryan says. “We’re actually in Pittsburgh right now, but yeah, it’s been good, great bunch of guys here.”

“Good,” Dylan echoes. He pauses, clearly waiting, and Ryan wishes he’d just texted even though it would have been weird. He’s no longer sure it’s that much better to bring up on the phone, especially since he and Dylan rarely call each other. “Uh… so did you really just call to chat, or…” 

Ryan winces. “Right, actually, um, I was talking to Connor about you the other day, and he was acting kind of weird, so I was kind of wondering if, like… anything happened, um, between you guys?” 

Ryan can almost hear Dylan’s frown. “Like what?” 

“Like, you know… feelings things,” Ryan says.

“Feelings things?” Dylan repeats. “Like, are we dating? What the fuck kind of question is that?” 

“So you’re not? Or you weren’t?” 

“Definitely not, never happened,” Dylan says, and Ryan’s heart leaps. “Why did you think that? Did he say that?” 

“No, not really,” Ryan says. He’s not sure what Connor actually _did_ say, then, but it’s not like he’s catching Connor in a lie or anything. “I was just asking him why you two aren’t in each other’s pockets anymore.”

Dylan makes an indignant noise. “We _are_ still in each other’s pockets!” he protests. “What has he been telling you? I’m gonna call him right now, what the fuck.” 

“Jesus, no, don’t do that,” Ryan says quickly. “He didn’t say anything, it was just me, and then he got weird, like I said, so I was curious. That’s all.” 

Dylan hums thoughtfully. “Well… honestly, if anything was weird, it was him being kind of jealous of my thing with Mitch,” he says. “It wasn’t a big deal, though. Not friendship-ending.” 

“Oh,” Ryan says. That definitely fits with ‘some feelings’, at least, and if both Connor and Dylan are saying it wasn’t a big deal, then it probably wasn’t. 

“Yeah,” Dylan says. “Got anymore weird questions about my love life, or are you done?”

“Sorry, I’m done,” Ryan says. “Don’t call Connor, he really didn’t say anything.”

“I’m not going to,” Dylan says. “I’d actually rather just forget we discussed this.” 

“Do that,” Ryan says. “Bye, Dyl.”

Ryan stares at his phone for a long few minutes after he hangs up. He was expecting the phone call to help him put his Connor feelings to rest, and to have it go in the opposite direction entirely is… well, he’s not sure if that’s good or bad. He supposes only time will tell, which is terrifying enough that he does his best to stop thinking about it.

 

Connor is halfway through an episode of _Suits_ when his phone starts buzzing from the bedside table he dropped it on when he got into his hotel room in Pittsburgh. When he leans over to look at the screen, it’s Dylan calling him on FaceTime.

Connor hits pause on his laptop and answers the call. “Sup, Stromer?” 

“Hey, man,” Dylan says, grinning. He’s clearly sitting on a bed somewhere, probably doing exactly the same thing Connor is. “How’s it going?” 

“Not too bad.” Dylan usually only FaceTimes him when he’s got good gossip, so Connor raises his eyebrows at him and asks, “Who did something stupid this time?” 

Dylan barks a laugh and shoves his hair out of his face. “Fuck, man, who isn’t doing some stupid shit these days? Did you see Maksi trying to wheel that girl in her Insta comments yesterday?” 

Connor shakes his head. “No, but when is he not doing that? What’s this girl’s username?” he asks before opening Instagram.

It doesn’t take long for Connor’s sides to hurt from laughing at Dylan’s commentary during the ensuing Instagram judgefest. It’s times like these that he’s most glad Dylan didn’t let Connor’s feelings get in the way of their friendship, because if it had been left up to Connor, he probably wouldn’t have this anymore.

“Oh, great,” Dylan says, voice loud and disdainful, after a lull in the conversation. “Marns is flirting with fucking Matthews again.” 

“Be nice,” Connor says mildly. “What’s new with that, anyway?” He switches back to the FaceTime app, and after a moment, Dylan does as well. 

Dylan huffs a sigh and rolls his eyes. “I, like, don’t even know anymore,” he says. “I think Matthews is trying to sneak his way in there again. Mitch said nothing was going on the last time I asked, but he seemed kind of shifty about it if you ask me. It’s not like I can ask again, though.”

Connor nods. “Would he tell you if there was?” he asks, genuinely curious.

Dylan makes a face and gestures helplessly. “He did last time. That was when he was all guilty because he realized he wasn’t just hooking up with me or whatever. Which, first, fucking duh, and second, if Marns actually likes me back, I don’t really get why Auston fucking Matthews gets a go, too. I’m—well, I’m not right there, but I’ve _been_ here longer.”

“Auston’s a nice guy,” Connor offers, mostly because he knows Dylan doesn’t want to hear that, so it’ll effectively end this line of conversation. Connor’s over being jealous of how into Mitch Dylan is, but he still doesn’t really like hearing about it. 

“Yeah, yeah, Matthews hung the fucking sun,” Dylan scoffs. “Whatever, moving on. How’s my brother doing? Is he a pain in the ass to captain? I bet he is.” 

Connor blinks, startled. He thinks about Ryan sitting across the table from him in that weirdly romantic corner of the restaurant for a split second before he resolutely shoves that image out of his mind. “Uh, he’s good. We’ve been hanging out a bunch, actually. Figured it was only right I give him the special treatment since he’s your brother,” Connor says. “He’s cooler than you, sorry to say.” 

“Oh, come on, as if,” Dylan says. “I don’t think I considered how bad this was gonna be for me, to be honest. You two better not be talking about me.” 

Connor tries not to visibly cringe as he recalls basically telling Ryan about his terrible crush on Dylan. It seemed like a good idea to tell Ryan when he asked, especially since Ryan just admitted to having unrequited feelings for Tavares, but Connor almost instantly regretted saying anything. He kind of wishes he could talk to Dylan about it and see what he thinks about the way Connor sometimes catches Ryan looking at him—and the way he sometimes catches himself looking back—but that would open a seriously awkward can of worms.

“What is there to talk about?” Connor says instead, rolling his eyes. “You suck.” 

“Shut up, you love me,” Dylan says. 

“Might,” Connor says. He smiles in spite of himself, and Dylan makes a kissy face at the camera. 

“Okay, it’s late as fuck,” Dylan says. “I’d better let you get your beauty rest, Davo, not that it’s gonna help.” 

“Fuck off, I’m already beautiful,” Connor says. “G’night, Stromer.” 

He hangs up feeling unsettled. It’s always good to talk to Dylan, but talking about Ryan with him has Connor all too aware of how similar the fond, fluttery feeling he gets in his chest around Ryan is to how he used to feel about Dylan. So far the answer to that problem has been letting himself flirt and otherwise do nothing, but Connor knows himself well enough to know that he won’t be able to keep that up forever. It honestly scares Connor, and he has no idea what to do about it.

Connor shakes his head at himself. He can’t do anything about it right now, anyway. He resolves to stop thinking about Stromes for once and goes to take a shower.

 

The Oilers return home from their road trip with just one win in three games; frustratingly, both losses are in overtime. It seems to be quickly becoming the usual for their season, as they eke out a win against Dallas at home only to have Washington steamroll them two days later. Ryan leaves the rink after the game with single-minded focus on going home to sleep off the frustration and disappointment. He doesn’t make it past changing out of his suit and into comfier clothes before his doorbell rings.

He approaches the door from an angle so that he can check who it is through the window next to it and is surprised when he sees Connor standing on his front stoop.

“What are you doing here?” he asks when he opens the door. He steps to the side and gestures for Connor to come in; it’s fucking cold out at night, and his pajama pants definitely can’t stand up to the gust of air from the doorway.

“Darnell told me that a reporter was a dick to you, but you were already gone, so I thought I’d come see if you’re okay,” Connor says as he walks in. He holds up a paper bag. “And I stopped for booze on the way.”

“I’m fine,” Ryan says automatically. The reporter _had_ been particularly distasteful in asking Ryan if he’d heard the speculation about his being on the trading block already, especially right after a bad loss, but it honestly wasn’t that bad. “I can handle it. Nobody said anything I haven’t heard before.” 

Connor looks at him, appraising, then nods. “Okay, but I’m kind of pissed after that loss. You wanna drink anyway?” 

He raises one eyebrow like he’s challenging Ryan, and Ryan can’t help but smile even as alarm bells go off in his head. There’s no way it’s a good idea to drink with Connor; for one, Ryan already wants to kiss him when he’s sober, and for two, nights out with the team have made him well aware of how cute a drunk Connor is.

There’s also no way he’s going to say _no_. “Yeah, for sure,” he says. “We’ll even talk about anything but hockey.” 

“Perfect,” Connor says. He hands the paper bag to Ryan and starts taking off his shoes and jacket. “I brought tequila, so we can get buzzed quick and then watch something stupid on TV.” 

“Sounds good,” Ryan agrees. He takes the bottle out of its bag and tries not to let it show on his face that his mind’s alarm bells just got louder.

Connor heads into the condo and stops short when he sees that the living room is empty. “You still don’t have a couch? What the fuck, dude.”

“I’ve been busy,” Ryan says defensively. “And there’s a TV in my bedroom, so whatever.”

He doesn’t realize the ramifications of _that_ until Connor starts to turn toward Ryan’s bedroom. Fucking hell, that’s a bad idea.

“I have shot glasses in the kitchen, let’s go get them,” Ryan says quickly. 

Thankfully, bar stools are one of the few pieces of furniture Ryan _has_ acquired. Connor settles in on one of them, takes off his suit jacket, and starts rolling up his sleeves. When he pauses to loosen his tie, Ryan forces himself to stop watching and busies himself pouring shots. 

“You’ve got salt, right?” Connor asks, and that’s how Ryan ends up having to see Connor lick salt off his own hand before knocking back shots of tequila. It really shouldn’t be as hot as it is. 

It doesn’t take long for them to start feeling the alcohol, and it’s not long after that when Connor stops in the middle of a sentence about something completely unrelated and says, “Oh my God, should we order food?”

Ryan furrows his eyebrows. “Food?” he repeats.

“ _Yes_ ,” Connor says fervently. “I just realized that I’m super fucking hungry, and I really can’t cook, so…”

“Now that you mention it… me too,” Ryan says. “Except I can cook, hold on.” 

He gets to his feet carefully, making sure that he’s not so drunk that he can’t walk properly, and heads toward the fridge. It’s a blessing to have something to occupy himself, considering his main source of entertainment for the past few minutes has been watching the pink flush of Connor’s face get more pronounced. He badly wants to put his mouth on Connor's neck. 

“Do you want… eggs?” he asks after a moment of staring into his fridge.

“Eggs?” Connor echoes. “Fuck yeah, I want eggs. I _love_ eggs.”

Ryan snickers and takes the egg carton out of the fridge. Connor looks ridiculously cute when he’s excited, especially when it’s eggs that he’s so enthusiastically focused on. He looks almost rapt as he watches Ryan crack the eggs into a bowl and start assembling ingredients for omelettes.

“God, that looks good. I’ve never been this hungry in my _life_ ,” Connor complains when Ryan starts carefully cutting up slices of ham. 

“You’re such a whiny drunk,” Ryan says. He means for it to be teasing, but it comes out a lot closer to fond. Fuck his entire life. He pauses to get a box of multigrain crackers from the pantry and slide it down the counter to Connor. “Here, eat these while I make real food.”

“You’re the fucking _best_ ,” Connor breathes as he opens the box, and Ryan has to put down the knife for a moment because he doesn’t trust himself. 

Ryan manages to get the omelette into the pan without incident before making the mistake of looking over at Connor again. He’s still watching Ryan and eating crackers with a look of blissful content on his face. Ryan looks away quickly, and then looks back, trying to make it less awkward. 

“If you think those crackers are good, you’re going to love these eggs,” Ryan says. “Omelettes are definitely one of my specialties. JT used to force me to make them when he was hungover.” 

“Hell yeah, I can’t wait,” Connor says, mouth half full of crackers. He swallows and adds, “Are they done?”

Ryan laughs. “No, be patient,” he says, turning back to the pan. 

Connor groans and eats another cracker. “If they’re John Tavares’ favourite, then I definitely want them immediately. Hurry up, Ry.” 

“I don’t know if you should judge by what JT likes,” Ryan says, flipping the omelette. “I had to do most of the cooking, because the guy _can_ cook, sure, but he’s into improvising and shit. I know I told you about the eggplant parm, and he really tried with that one, but he was incredibly bad at following a recipe on a good day.”

“Oh yeah?” Connor says. “What’s, like, the worst shit he ever did?” 

Ryan hums to himself, thinking about it. Nothing JT made was ever a complete disaster, but… “He did some weird shit with lasagna,” he says. “Always adding random spices and various vegetables that have no business being in there. Like, edible… but why would you, you know?” 

Connor laughs at that for longer than it probably deserves. Then Connor affects a dramatic tone and repeats, “Why _would_ you?”, clearly making fun of Ryan’s disgust, and Ryan realizes he was likely laughing at Ryan instead of JT in the first place. Ryan makes a face at him, and Connor laughs even harder. 

“You’re gonna have to stop laughing to eat your eggs,” Ryan says as he splits the omelette into two and moves it onto plates. He’s attempting to be stern, but Connor’s laugh is infectious as well as adorable. 

“Are they ready?” Connor asks, and when Ryan offers him one of the plates, he unceremoniously drops the box of crackers and shoves it down the counter. “Yesssssss, eggs.” 

It’s a pretty good omelette, if the number of compliments Connor gives Ryan while eating it is any indication. Ryan is inclined to agree, anyway; he’s drunk enough that the sheer amount of cheese he’d piled in it makes it godly on its own. 

“Don’t tell Luke Gazdic, but I’ve decided you’re the best cook ever,” Connor tells Ryan when he finishes. “Except for, like, my mom, but that doesn’t count because she’s, like, mom tier. It’s a whole other thing.”

Ryan laughs and bows. “Thank you, thank you. Your secret is safe with me.” 

“Good,” Connor says sincerely, and then he gets up and stumbles off toward the bathroom.

Ryan leaves him to it, busying himself with rinsing off the dishes, but when Connor doesn’t come back for what seems like longer than necessary, Ryan goes investigating. He finds Connor sitting in the middle of his bed, legs stretched out in front of him, now missing his tie and with the top few buttons of his shirt undone. Ryan fervently wishes he’d just stayed in the kitchen where it was peaceful. 

“Oh, hey!” Connor says, smiling wide when he sees Ryan in the doorway. “I was gonna turn on the TV, but I couldn’t find the remote, so… I figured you’d show up.” He pats the bed next to him. “Come hang out, it’s way better than the barstool.” 

Ryan joins Connor on the bed. It’s definitely comfier than the barstool, but it’s also a hell of a lot closer to Connor, and Ryan is entirely unequipped to deal with it. He leans away and gets the TV remote out of the bedside table drawer. When he turns the TV on, it’s tuned to the music channel he’d fallen asleep to the other night.

Ryan opens the guide, but before he can pick something else, Connor says, “Oh yeah, I was thinking, and your story about JT totally reminded me of, like, my worst cooking experience ever.”

Ryan looks at Connor and raises his eyebrows. “Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah, so in my rookie year, probably in the first month or so, I thought I’d help Luke cook, right?” Connor starts. “He was making this chicken broth thing with the chicken and vegetables all in there, and he told me to strain it out, right? Easy enough.”

Ryan nods encouragingly.

“Except I completely forgot to actually put a pot under the strainer, so all that chicken broth went right down the drain.”

“Oh no,” Ryan says, laughing. “Shit, that sucks.” 

Connor makes a rueful face even as he’s snickering. “Gaz and Hallsy thought it was _so_ funny. Like, Hallsy asked me how I was ever going to be the youngest captain ever if I was doing dumb shit like that. Worst captain material ever.” He laughs again, then abruptly sobers, frowning. “Maybe they were right, though, I don’t think I’ve done a very good job.”

“Shut up,” Ryan says immediately. Connor looks genuinely sad, and it’s the worst thing Ryan has ever seen in his life. “If Hall and Gazdic heard you say that, they’d smack you so hard, and so would everyone else in the room.” 

Connor shrugs, and Ryan shakes his head.

“Give me your phone,” he says, reaching for where Connor’s phone is resting on the bed. “I’m gonna text Taylor Hall and tell him you said that shit right now, and then he can kick your ass the next time he sees you.” 

Connor grabs his phone before Ryan can get to it and holds it away. “No no no,” he says, “you don’t need to do that.” 

“I do,” Ryan insists, making a grab for the phone and letting Connor jerk it away from him. “You can’t spout bullshit without consequences, McDavid.” 

“Nooooo,” Connor whines. He laughs as he moves away from Ryan, still holding the phone out of reach.

Ryan grins involuntarily, pleased with his success in getting Connor to stop looking sad, and gives up on trying to get Connor’s phone. “Fine, consider this a warning.” 

“Thank you,” Connor says. He’s a little breathless and still laughing, even as he settles back into his lounging position with his weight on his elbows. Ryan’s heart feels too big for his chest, and he can't stop glancing at the hollow of Connor’s neck just above where his flushed skin disappears below his shirt. It's a bad combination. 

“Besides,” he says, wanting to make sure Connor gets this, “I’ve told you before that you’re a great captain, haven’t I? You were great with Kailer, you’re great with Jesse, you’ve been great with me… you deserve to be captain.”

Connor just looks at him for a moment before he asks, “How do you always do that?” 

Ryan frowns. “Do what?” 

“Say exactly the right thing at the right time?” 

Ryan laughs slightly, confused. “When have I ever done that before?” 

Connor visibly hesitates, then says, “I don’t know if you remember, but, uh, Dylan called you before the draft, like, the night before? Because we were both sort of freaking out, wondering about how it was going to go, and you were… you were super patient, walking us through all the details you could remember from when you got drafted. It was really nice of you, but the part that stuck with me, um.” He stops. “It’s dumb.”

“No, what?” Ryan asks, utterly fascinated. He remembers the phone call, but he doesn’t really remember what he said, and he doesn’t know if he would’ve been able to say that Connor was on the line as well as Dylan if he’d been asked before right now. 

Connor’s face gets impossibly more red. “You said that even if we face planted in the middle of the stage, we’d still be making millions in a couple years, so who gave a fuck? It was obviously a joke, but I still think about it sometimes. You know, when I’m having a bad day or whatever.” 

Ryan stares at Connor, struck completely dumb. It seems completely absurd that some stupid joke he made years ago is something that Connor still thinks about, and he’s not sure what to do with the reality of it staring him in the face.

Connor averts his gaze slightly, biting the inside of his lip. Ryan drops his eyes to that tantalizing curve of Connor’s collarbone below his unbuttoned shirt, then back up to his lips. He lingers for a moment, and when he looks up again, Connor is looking right back at him.

Ryan leans down and kisses him. For a terrifying second, Connor stiffens, but then his entire body relaxes as he kisses Ryan back. It’s better than Ryan could have imagined, and he has to stop after a moment to catch his breath. He doesn’t have time to think before Connor puts his hand on the back of Ryan’s neck and pulls him down again.

Ryan has to catch himself on the bed with his hand so that he doesn’t crush Connor entirely, but he can feel the warmth emanating from Connor’s body, a constant reminder that they’re almost touching everywhere. Ryan is careful not to close that distance; just kissing Connor feels like too much, like they’re crossing some unwritten line even as Connor opens his mouth and deepens the kiss.

They kiss like that for a while before Ryan realizes through the fog that’s settled in his head that he could do all the things he’s been trying so hard not to think about. He pulls back slightly and just looks for a moment, admiring the spread of Connor’s eyelashes against his cheek and the redness of his slightly-open lips. He discovers that Connor’s hair is even softer than it looks when he brushes it away from Connor’s forehead. When Connor opens his eyes, Ryan ducks his head, afraid of what his expression might be revealing. He kisses Connor’s jawline to hide the movement, and Connor makes a soft noise of surprise. 

Connor slides his hand from Ryan’s neck to his side, his fingers tugging up Ryan’s t-shirt until just the backs of his fingers are pressed against Ryan’s skin above his hip. Ryan stops, his forehead pressed against Connor’s temple, so overwhelmed by it that he feels like a stupid teenager. He can feel Connor’s breath hot on his cheek, and he’s about to move to kiss him again when Connor abruptly rolls away.

Ryan sits up, shaking his head to try and clear away the drunk feeling. Connor is sitting at the edge of the bed, facing away from Ryan. “You okay?” Ryan asks, his heart already sinking.

Connor looks back at Ryan and shrugs. “Yeah, I just… I realized it’s pretty late, eh? I should probably go home.”

Ryan wants to protest, but the longer Connor isn’t touching him anymore, the more Ryan’s common sense starts to return and the more he feels like he fucked up. He should have told Connor no as soon as he saw that fucking tequila bottle. “You can’t drive, though,” he says.

“I’ll just get an Uber,” Connor says, standing up, and Ryan bites his lip to stop himself from saying anything. If Connor wants to leave that badly, then Connor should leave. It’s probably for the best, anyway.

Ryan follows Connor out of the room, watching him collect the various articles of clothing he’d discarded and put them back on. He wishes he could figure out what to say, but he has no idea what’s going through his own head right now, much less Connor’s. So much for always saying the right thing at the right time.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks when they’re standing in the entryway.

Connor looks up from his phone, an expression Ryan can’t parse flickering across his face before it settles into the same neutral face Ryan’s seen a million times. “I’m fine,” he says. 

Ryan nods helplessly. “Okay.”

They stand in silence for a few minutes, avoiding eye contact, before Connor looks down at his phone and says, “My car’s here.”

“Okay,” Ryan says again. “Thanks for, uh… thanks.”

Connor takes a step toward the door, then hesitates before turning toward Ryan instead. Ryan stands stock still as he approaches and is surprised when he leans in and kisses Ryan, a fleeting thing that Ryan almost isn’t sure happened. 

Connor steps backward, biting his lower lip. “Bye, Ry,” he says after a second.

Then he’s gone, and Ryan is left staring at the door, more confused than ever. 

 

**Two**

Connor wakes up clear-headed and reasonably well-rested, which is almost worse than waking up with a hangover. If he was drunk enough last night to be feeling it this morning, he might feel better about having made such bad choices. 

Connor hadn’t been planning anything beyond checking on Ryan and making both of them feel better after losing, but somewhere between staring at Ryan’s hands in the kitchen and sitting on Ryan’s bed, he realized that he definitely wanted something to happen. He wasn’t going to do anything himself, because the last time he tried to kiss a Strome is still vivid in his mind, but he was drunk enough for it to seem like a really good idea to kiss Ryan back until Ryan stopped kissing him for a minute and he remembered himself. 

He needed to leave after that so he wouldn’t make it worse, except that Ryan looked sad, so of course Connor kissed him again, because what could it hurt? Fuck, he’s stupid. He should have known better.

He drags himself out of bed and remembers in the middle of brushing his teeth that he left his car at Ryan’s. He’s pretty sure Darnell is at his girlfriend’s again, so he doesn’t have another way to get to practice. He can’t ask anyone else to pick him up because they’ll ask questions, and he’s _definitely_ not going to ask Ryan. He checks the time—it’s just before seven, so maybe if he goes back to get his car right now, he won’t have to see Ryan. 

Connor realizes he’s made a grave mistake the second his Uber pulls up in front of Ryan’s condo and he can clearly see Ryan sitting on the front stoop. For a moment, he considers telling the driver to just keep going, but there’s no way Ryan didn’t see the car, so he doesn’t.

He gets out and sticks his hands into his jacket pockets as he walks over to Ryan. Ryan lifts a hand in greeting, the other one holding a travel mug close to his chest. “Morning,” he says.

“Morning,” Connor says. “How long have you been out here?” 

“Since about five. Couldn’t sleep,” Ryan says. He holds out a different travel mug to Connor. “The coffee’s probably still hot, though. Join me.” 

Connor takes the mug and sits down next to Ryan on the stoop. The coffee is, in fact, still hot when he takes a sip, which is pretty impressive. He can’t imagine sitting out here when it’s nearly freezing out for two hours, and it makes him feel doubly awful for leaving last night. 

“How did you know I was going to come back?” he asks. 

“I figured if you didn’t I’d just make you come get your car after practice, and we’d talk then,” Ryan says. “Didn’t want to miss you if you did come early, though, so.”

Connor nods. “Sorry for leaving so quickly last night.”

Ryan shrugs. “Why did you?” 

Ryan obviously deserves an explanation, but Connor doesn’t have any idea where to start. He struggles for a minute, trying to figure out how to string words together, and then says, “It’s about Dylan, kind of.”

The look of horror on Ryan’s face makes Connor immediately regret starting with that. “Is there actually something going on there?” Ryan asks. “You made it sound like that wasn’t a thing that was happening, but if I need to back off, I will. I really don’t want to hurt either of you.”

“No, it’s not that,” Connor says, shaking his head. “It’s more like, uh, it was never a thing that was happening, but I wanted it to be? I actually, um… kissed him way back before the draft lottery, and he said it wasn’t a good idea. It took me a long time to realize how serious he was and then a long time after that to get over it, and I’m… I don’t want that to happen again.” 

Ryan’s expression goes distant. “You’re still in love with him,” he says, looking away and nodding to himself. He gets to his feet and looks down at Connor. The tense way he's standing there reminds Connor of a startled animal, like the time Connor found a deer in his backyard just after moving in. It had stopped and looked at him, frozen, like it wanted to run away but didn't want to do it while Connor was still looking, and that’s exactly what Ryan is doing now. 

Connor turns so that he's facing the door, wanting to say something to explain himself so that Ryan won't bolt, but as he does so, Ryan reaches for the door handle. “Okay, so let’s pretend this never happened. See you at practice, Connor,” he says, and then he slips inside before Connor can even open his mouth. 

Connor sits there for another moment, staring at the coffee mug in his hand, before putting it down on the steps and walking to his car on autopilot. 

Pretending it never happened is probably a good strategy, one that Connor would definitely have been on board with when he woke up this morning, but he can’t stop thinking about Ryan accusing him of still being in love with Dylan. He said it like it was obvious, and the more Connor thinks about it, the more it feels like a direct punch in the face to all the months Connor has spent falling _out_ of love with Dylan.

By the time practice is over and he’s still thinking about it, Connor is annoyed and a little upset, and he’s not about to let Ryan leave the arena without setting the record straight. Intellectually, he’s aware that it doesn’t make a difference, but it feels incredibly important that Ryan not think that he’s in love with Dylan.

Thankfully, Ryan gets tagged to do a media scrum and Connor doesn’t, so Connor’s able to beat him to the parking garage easily. He waits by Ryan’s car, nervously fidgeting, and straightens up when he sees Ryan coming. 

“Uh, what are you doing?” Ryan asks.

“I don’t think we finished our conversation,” Connor says. He gestures to the car. “Can we sit here for a second? Or you can drive if you want, I can come back for my car later.” 

Connor thinks for a second that Ryan might tell him to fuck off, but then he visibly takes a deep breath and shrugs. “It’s fine, we can talk here,” he says instead.

“So,” Connor says when they’ve both gotten in the car, “I’m really not in love with Dylan. I love him, sure, but I’m not _in love_ with him. Like I said this morning, I spent a lot of time getting over him.” 

“Okay,” Ryan says. He doesn’t look convinced, which is even more annoying. “So if that’s not the problem, what is?”

Connor bites his lip. He hates talking about his feelings on a good day, and he especially hates it when he feels like he’s going to be judged. He wants Ryan to understand, though, so he forges ahead. “I don’t know, it’s just… what happened with him sucked. I don’t know if I’m ready for that to happen again.” 

Ryan’s expression softens. “Why do you think it’s going to?” 

Connor shrugs, uncomfortable. “I dunno, but I’d probably have to jump off a bridge if I got my heart broken by two Stromes, right?” 

He means for it to be a joke, but it falls flat even to his own ears, and whatever softness was in Ryan’s face before disappears. “I’m not my brother,” Ryan says quietly, frowning. Then, louder and more annoyed, “And it’s not my fault Dylan is a fucking idiot, either. It kind of sucks to be the one who’s punished for his stupidity.”

“I’m not trying to—”

“It’s also stupid to let him ruin your love life when he’s not even here,” Ryan interrupts.

Connor swallows hard. “I’m not.”

Ryan sighs. “Maybe you should think about it. If you really were over my brother, it seems like you’d say it less and act like it more.” 

His words hit Connor like a stab to the throat. He looks down at his own hands and takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan says after a moment, “that was uncalled for.” 

“Yeah, it kinda was,” Connor agrees. He gets out of the car without looking at Ryan and doesn’t quite slam the door behind him before heading across the parking garage to his own car. 

 

If there’s anything beyond hockey that Connor is really good at, it’s stewing in his anger. He’s sure his sports psychologist wouldn’t be impressed, but he spends more time than he should at the gym over the next week, avoiding thinking about anything except hockey. He figures he can’t lie awake sulking at night if he’s exhausted, and it’s easy to mostly avoid Ryan when he doesn’t go anywhere except the rink and home.

It’s a lot harder to distract himself when they’re on the road, though. He tries, but people will only play cards or watch game tape with him for so long before they leave Connor alone with his thoughts, and the flight from Edmonton to New York is _long_.

The problem with refusing to think about his feelings is that when he finally does acknowledge them, they seem farther away than before. He knows he’s upset with Ryan, but when he can see him a few rows up on the plane, laughing with JJ, it’s drowned out by the more immediate twist in his gut that comes from missing him. It’s stupid, but Connor can’t help it. 

Not even Connor can solely think about hockey 24/7, and it’s impossible not to think about what Ryan said when he laid it out the way he did. Connor has to admit, with the evidence sitting right in front of him, that he _is_ letting Dylan ruin his love life, and why would he do that if he really were over him? Why would he be so upset about Ryan saying he’s in love with Dylan if not because he spends so much time trying to convince himself otherwise instead of just moving on? 

He wishes he could talk to Ryan about it, but it doesn’t seem fair to dump all of his baggage at Ryan’s feet and expect him to still want to go ahead with whatever they’re doing. If Ryan hasn’t realized that Connor isn’t worth it yet, he definitely would then. Connor is pretty sure that nobody wants to date someone who’s hung up on their sibling.

He thinks himself in circles until he falls into a restless sleep, and when the plane finally lands, he gets up and shuffles down the aisle, still half-asleep. He’s stopped short by Ryan standing just as Connor is about to walk into the space beside his seat, and he takes a quick step backward.

“Sorry, go ahead,” he says. 

Ryan gives him a half-smile before getting his bag and stepping out into the aisle. Connor is suddenly wide awake, far too conscious of how close he’s walking behind Ryan. He catches a whiff of Ryan’s shampoo as he does so and has a vivid flashback to the last time they were this close: Ryan on top of him, his nose against Connor’s cheek, his lips brushing against Connor’s jaw—

Ryan abruptly stops as Cam steps out in front of him, and Connor is so distracted that he nearly trips over his feet and automatically catches himself with a hand on Ryan’s hip. Ryan immediately moves away, and Connor’s stomach swoops. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. Ryan doesn’t respond. Connor’s hand feels like it’s burning where he touched Ryan, and he flexes it and balls it into a fist. 

He’s still thinking about how quickly Ryan stepped away from him when he’s lying in bed later. The more he does, the more obvious it becomes that he fucked it all up, and there’s nothing he can do about it and no one to blame but himself. 

 

Ryan only stops at the hotel in New York for a few minutes to change before he heads out to dinner with JT. He’s excited to see him and grateful for the distraction catching up will no doubt provide—it was a long, long flight from Edmonton, with way too much opportunity to get stuck in his own head. 

Unfortunately, Ryan’s never been very good at hiding his emotions. Five minutes into dinner, JT stops talking halfway through a sentence and frowns at Ryan. Ryan raises his eyebrows at him in question, gesturing for him to go on with his story about some prank Mat Barzal pulled the other day, but JT shakes his head. “What’s got you looking so upset?” he asks. “Out with it.” 

Ryan considers arguing that he’s not upset at all, but he already knows JT would not only see through his bullshit, but also call him out for it. That’s how JT has always been. It’s how he figured out Ryan had a crush on him back in the day, and because he’s John Tavares and therefore can’t stand being anything less than a perfect captain and friend, he forced Ryan to talk about it.

Now that he’s thinking about it, Ryan definitely has a type. Fuck. 

“It’s kind of a long story,” Ryan hedges.

“Good thing we only just sat down,” JT says, looking at Ryan expectantly. 

“Right,” Ryan says. He doesn’t really want to talk about this, but at the same time, it would be nice to have someone else’s opinion. At least Ryan knows that JT would never judge him too harshly. “So, I may have kissed Connor.”

At least JT looks genuinely surprised at that. “May have?” he asks cautiously.

“Well, I was trying not to, but then I definitely did,” Ryan says. 

“And he wasn’t into it?” JT asks, already looking sympathetic. 

“No, I’m pretty sure he was, actually,” Ryan says. “But he did immediately run away after, and when I tried to be an adult about it and ask him why, it sounded like it’s because he’s in love with Dylan.”

“As in…”

“As in my brother, yeah,” Ryan confirms. “But when I said that, he got mad at me, and now we’re not speaking at all.” 

JT stares at him. “Dude, that’s…” He frowns. “Wait, so you accused him of being in love with your brother? Why would you do that?” 

Ryan huffs, annoyed all over again when he thinks about it. “Apparently Dylan rejected him a couple years back, and so Connor told me that he didn’t want to get hurt again, especially by a Strome, which is just…” He shakes his head. “It’s like he thinks that just because Dylan’s my brother, I’m automatically going to act like him. That’s insulting, right? I’m not crazy?”

“You’re not crazy,” JT says, which actually does make Ryan feel a little better. “So he said he still has feelings for Dylan?” 

Ryan winces. “Ah, no, he was pretty adamant that he didn’t,” he admits. “And then I told him to act more like it, which was… well, too far, I guess, because that’s when he stormed off.” 

JT fixes Ryan with a look. “So you didn’t listen to what he was saying?” 

“I tried, but—”

Ryan cuts himself off. Saying all this aloud is making him feel guilty, and sitting here with JT in particular has him thinking about his own teenage crush. What would it have been like if JT had never brought that out into the open and made sure Ryan moved on instead of carrying that torch? Ryan’s far enough from it now to admit that it was devastating to be let down easily, and from the sound of it, Connor didn’t even get a direct rejection. Ryan can’t blame him for being afraid to let down his guard and wanting to use his words to distance himself from Dylan.

Across the table, JT is giving him a knowing look. “I know it sucks to feel like you’re being judged for something you have no control over, but maybe you need to be the one to make some sort of apologetic gesture,” JT says. “You can’t have a strained relationship with your captain. That’ll fuck with the whole team eventually.” 

Ryan snorts. Leave it to JT to make this about the team. Ryan loves the guy, but sometimes he doesn’t have a clue. “What kind of gesture would that even be? I think you’re underestimating the amount of feelings tied up in this.”

JT shrugs. “And you’re too caught up in them to just solve this in the simplest way possible.”

“Romance isn’t simple, man,” Ryan says.

“Ah, yeah,” JT says gently, looking mildly pained, “I hate to say it, but you might need to give up on that part of it. Don’t settle for being a stand-in for your little brother, dude. You don’t deserve that.” 

Ryan desperately doesn’t want to give up, but the idea that he’s a stand-in for Dylan makes his stomach flip uncomfortably. “You think he thinks of me like that?”

“I honestly don’t know,” JT says. “I just think you should be careful.”

Ryan sighs heavily and looks down at the table. “He makes me so stupid,” he mutters. 

Instead of responding to that, JT just looks at him sadly and then, blessedly, changes the subject. 

 

Concluding that there’s nothing he can do to fix things with Ryan makes Connor both feel terrible and be a terrible person to be around. Returning home from their road trip to beat Vegas 8-2 feels pretty good while it’s happening, and Connor goes out with the guys to celebrate after, but the hockey high wears off quickly. Connor excuses himself early after catching himself watching Ryan smile and thinking about how upset he looked in his car before Connor left him there one too many times. 

He tries to act like a normal person the next day, but he must be pretty bad at it, because Darnell quits playing Chel with him and leaves for his girlfriend’s around noon. He can’t blame Darnell; he wouldn’t want to hang out with himself right now either. Connor needs to get his shit together before his teammates decide to stage an intervention, because he’ll definitely have to save himself the embarrassment by lying and telling them he’s suffering from something more serious than a self-inflicted love life problem, and then he’ll really be in deep.

He still hasn’t moved from where Darnell left him on the couch when the doorbell rings. He considers ignoring it—it can’t be anything that important in the middle of a Wednesday—but curiosity wins out. 

When he opens the door, Connor is greeted by a big cardboard box. He stares, confused, and then Ryan’s voice says, “Hey—oh, shit,” as the box starts to tip. Connor reaches out automatically and catches it, and together he and Ryan steady it and lower it to the ground.

The top of the box has fallen half open, and Connor thinks he can see part of a pine branch and the edge of some silver garland. He avoids looking at Ryan for as long as possible, panicking about why the hell he’s shown up here, and then gives in and looks up.

“Hey,” he says. 

Ryan gives an awkward little wave and then shoves his hands into his pockets. “Hi,” he says. “So, uh… I know we’re not talking right now, but, um… I’m sorry for what I said. It was pretty rude of me to not just believe what you were telling me, and honestly, I’ve sorta missed hanging out with you. Are you still mad at me?” 

Connor’s heart skips a beat, and he’s shaking his head before he can even think it through. “No,” he says. “It was… you weren’t wrong.”

An expression Connor can’t quite parse flashes across Ryan’s face. “So you’re not over him?”

Connor hesitates, then shrugs. “I’m getting there,” he says. “Do you want to come in?” 

Ryan looks down at the box instead of answering. “I brought Christmas decorations. I know it’s early, but I just thought…”

He trails off, still looking down. Connor isn’t sure how Ryan was going to end that sentence, but it doesn’t matter, anyway. He picks up the box himself and carries it into the house. Ryan follows him.

“Don’t you want this stuff for your own place?” Connor asks as he pulls a string of garland out of the box in the middle of the living room. “I think I have some decorations from last year in a box somewhere that we could use instead.” 

Ryan shrugs. “Nah. I still don’t have a couch, so it would look weird. And, uh… there’s a tree in my car as well, by the way.” 

“You and your fucking couch,” Connor says, laughing. “Are you sure you don’t want a Christmas tree room? That’d be pretty homey.” 

“I was thinking about here when I picked it,” Ryan says with forced nonchalance. “I was going to get you to come with me, but, uh, I was afraid you might not want to, so… I just bought it.” 

Connor doesn’t know what to do with his warring feelings of guilt and sentiment at the thought of Ryan, notoriously indecisive as he is, picking out a tree for Connor’s house on his own. “Let’s go get it, then,” he says, already heading for the door in the hopes that Ryan didn’t see his expression.

The tree isn’t so big that it’s difficult to get it inside, and Connor is unsurprised when they only have to move one small table for it to fit perfectly in the corner. Connor has no idea how to take care of a real Christmas tree, but Ryan came prepared with a saw to cut the bottom off it and Christmas tree food to put in the stand.

“It’s going to die before Christmas no matter what we do,” Ryan says as he steps back from putting in the food. “I should’ve gotten a fake one, but I didn’t want to force you to keep it.” 

Connor’s heart hurts all over again at that. It’s dumb, but he’s pretty sure he’d keep whatever Ryan gave him forever if he could. “It’s perfect,” he says. He grins at Ryan to deflect the emotions. “I bet it took you forever to make a decision.”

Ryan, predictably, blushes. “You’re not wrong,” he admits.

Neither of them move for a minute, looking at the tree. Connor definitely feels like there’s a weird tension in the air, but the last two weeks have been miserable enough that he doesn’t care. Ryan is here, so Connor is just happy that he might not have completely fucked up after all.

“Should we put on some tunes and get decorating?” Ryan asks, and Connor nods. 

Ryan finds a Christmas playlist on his phone while Connor digs the lights out of the box, and then they work together to thread them around the tree. They’re mostly quiet, and Connor can hear Ryan humming along to the music. He’s surprisingly on tune. When “Winter Wonderland” comes on as they’re getting out the ornaments, Connor starts loudly singing the chorus just to see if it’ll make Ryan laugh. It does.

When they start hanging ornaments on the tree, it only takes Connor a couple minutes to notice that Ryan spends more time following along behind Connor than he does putting ornaments on the tree himself. He stops and pointedly raises his eyebrows as Ryan is moving a silver snowflake that Connor just hung.

“What?” Ryan says when he notices. “The colours and types have to be spread out properly.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Connor says innocently.

“You were thinking it,” Ryan mutters.

Connor laughs. “Okay, what about this one here?” he asks, holding up a solid gold ball in an empty spot. 

Ryan comes over to stand just behind him and makes an appraising noise. “Too close to that gold star,” he says, gesturing. He reaches around Connor’s body, leaning in close, and redirects Connor’s hand, nudging it downward with his fingers on Connor’s wrist. Connor tries and fails not to hold his breath as he hooks the ornament on the branch.

“There?” he asks.

“Yeah, perfect,” Ryan says, voice soft in Connor’s ear.

Connor wants to lean back into Ryan, but he doesn’t know how Ryan would react to that, so he just stands there for longer than he should instead. They both step away at the same time, and Connor’s stomach flutters at the thought of Ryan not wanting to move either.

“I’ll let you do this,” Connor says, gesturing to the tree. “I’m gonna investigate what else is in this box.”

Ryan nods, and Connor busies himself placing various snowglobes and other random things around the house. Ryan hangs the ornaments a lot faster on his own, and Connor notices him get something out of the box and go into the kitchen while Connor is looping pine garland up the stair railing. He finishes that and tapes a couple big bows along it—deliberately unevenly spaced, just to see if Ryan will get that cute crease in his forehead when he notices—before he goes to see what Ryan is doing. 

It turns out that Ryan is making hot chocolate. He turns around when he hears Connor come into the room and smiles. Connor feels a little lightheaded.

“It’s got peppermint in it,” Ryan says, pointing at the empty packets next to the mugs he was just stirring the contents of. “Gotta set the festive mood, y’know?” 

Connor nods, charmed by Ryan’s commitment to this whole early Christmas thing. “Are there marshmallows?” he asks, and Ryan picks up a bag off the counter behind him and waves it at him. 

“Extra for you,” he says as he opens the bag and drops two marshmallows in one mug and three in the other. He slides the one with three down the counter toward Connor, and Connor picks it up and takes a careful sip.

“Tastes like Christmas,” he says. Ryan smiles at him before taking a sip of his own hot chocolate.

They’re quiet as they drink, the muffled sound of a “Silent Night” cover Connor doesn’t recognize coming from the other room. Ryan leans against the kitchen counter, tucking one foot behind the other ankle the way Connor’s watched him do the in the players’ lounge at the rink a thousand times. He tries to think of something to say to fill the silence, but before he can, Ryan looks up at the ceiling, then back at Connor, and says, “Mistletoe.” 

“What?” Connor asks even as he looks up. Sure enough, just above him is a sprig of green with tiny white berries on it taped to the kitchen light fixture. “Oh, shit.” His heart rate doubles as he looks at Ryan; there’s only one way that mistletoe could’ve gotten there, and the implications of that send his head spinning.

Connor puts his hot chocolate down on the counter, his hands shaking slightly. Fuck, he wants this. “I…” he starts, but he doesn’t know how to finish. There are so many things he should say that he doesn’t have words for.

Ryan straightens up and puts down his mug as well. He looks at Connor, waiting, and then gives a little shrug. “I’m not Dylan, Connor.”

Suddenly everything seems simple. When it comes down to it, all the things Connor was trying to put words to are just noise, because that’s exactly it—Ryan’s not Dylan, and Connor doesn’t want him to be.

“You’re not,” Connor says. He takes a step toward Ryan, holding out his hand. Ryan mirrors him, his carefully blank expression slowly turning to a smile, and when he takes Connor’s hand, Connor pulls him in close and kisses him. 

It’s just a soft brush of their lips, but their bodies are pressed together the way Connor kept wishing they were last time, and Connor thinks his heart might beat its way right out of his chest and into Ryan’s. He can feel the curve of Ryan’s smile when Ryan kisses him again, and he absentmindedly brings his hand up to put his thumb against Ryan’s dimple. 

Ryan stops kissing him to laugh breathlessly, and Connor giggles stupidly. “Uhhhhh,” he says, dropping his hand. Ryan catches it halfway down and laces their fingers together. Connor looks down at their hands, grinning dumbly.

“I left the star for you to put on the tree,” Ryan says when Connor looks back up. “You wanna?” 

Connor hums thoughtfully. He feels warm everywhere, and he doesn’t really want to move away from Ryan, but Ryan leaving the star for him makes affection blossom in his chest all over again. He doesn’t know what they’re doing here, really, but right now he just wants to keep doing it.

“In a minute,” he decides, and then he kisses Ryan again.

 

They don’t have a lot of free time during the long road trip that follows, but Ryan is pretty sure that Connor is trying just as hard as Ryan is to make sure what time they do have, they spend together. That also means that they don’t have the energy to actually get out and do anything, but Ryan isn’t about to complain about staying in with Connor.

They’re lying on Ryan’s bed, Connor tucked up against Ryan’s side with his head on his chest, their legs tangled together. He followed Ryan straight here when they got to the hotel in Buffalo, and Ryan can’t help but wonder if any of the guys noticed that. They probably didn’t think much of it if they did, but Ryan is also acutely aware of how much time he and Connor spent exchanging loaded glances across the bar last night while talking to different people. If the team hasn’t figured something out by now, it’s only a matter of time.

It doesn’t help with this line of thought that he turned on the TV and _The Mighty Ducks_ was playing, so they’re watching that now, and it always reminds Ryan of Dylan. 

He cards his fingers through Connor’s hair absently, wondering if Connor has said anything to Dylan already. He feels like he would have heard about it if Connor had, which has him wondering if Connor is deliberately not telling Dylan. Ryan is trying to be okay with Connor still being in the process of getting over Dylan, but it’s not easy. 

“Hey,” he says when he can’t take thinking about it anymore. Connor starts slightly in surprise. “So maybe it’s too soon to talk about, but should we tell Dylan about this?” 

Connor sits up so he can look at Ryan, his legs still in Ryan’s lap. “Yeah, if you want to,” Connor says. His casual tone immediately makes Ryan feel better. 

“I kinda do,” Ryan says. He and Dylan don’t generally discuss their love lives, but Ryan is pretty sure Dylan would be pissed if he found out that Ryan is dating Connor in secret—at least, Ryan thinks that dating is what they’re starting to do here. Fuck, Ryan should really work on actually being romantic. Maybe when they get back to Edmonton. 

“Then we should,” Connor says. “I don’t want to keep you a secret from everyone forever, and Dylan should hear it first, I think.” 

Connor echoing Ryan’s thoughts exactly makes Ryan’s insides turn to liquid, and he leans in to kiss Connor. Connor kisses back enthusiastically, and after a moment, he shifts so that he’s straddling Ryan’s lap. Ryan puts his hands on Connor’s hips to steady him, fully onboard with this turn of events.

“We’ll tell him together, though, right?” Connor asks when Ryan pulls away to breathe for a second.

“Uhhhh,” Ryan says, trying to bring his brain back online enough to answer the question. “Yeah, definitely.”

Connor smirks. “We’ll figure it out when we get home,” he says. He leans in again, lips almost touching Ryan’s, and slides his hands underneath Ryan’s shirt. “I don’t want to think about Dylan right now.” 

Ryan agrees with that wholeheartedly. 

 

Like a blessing from the universe, Dylan gets called up that weekend. Ryan texts him a block of exclamation point emojis as soon as he sees the news, and Dylan sends him back three different gifs of people screaming. Ryan grins at his phone; not only is he thrilled for Dylan, but the Oilers play Arizona in Edmonton on Tuesday, so he’s going to get to see him. It’s perfect timing.

They have a game to play right after that, so Ryan doesn’t have the chance to say anything else to Dylan until it’s over. He hesitates before sending a text asking when Dylan will be getting to Edmonton and goes to find Connor instead. 

“Hey, did you see that Dylan got called up?” Ryan asks Connor, sitting down next to him in the locker room.

Connor nods. “Yeah, I texted him,” he says. “You?”

“Same deal,” Ryan says. “We should try and do dinner with him tomorrow night, eh? And then we can…”

He raises his eyebrows as he trails off, and Connor nods quickly. “Yeah, for sure. I’ll text him.” 

Dylan ends up not being able to do dinner, so they plan for lunch on game day instead. Dylan grins wide when he sees Ryan and Connor waiting for him outside the visitors’ dressing room after morning skate. 

“Fuck, I almost forgot what your ugly mugs look like in person,” he teases, holding open his arms for a hug. 

“You’re one to talk,” Ryan says as he hugs Dylan. He ruffles Dylan’s hair when he pulls back, and Dylan scowls at him. 

“God knows I prefer to only look at you through a phone screen,” Connor adds. 

“Christ, you really are ganging up on me now, aren’t you? I’m filing an official complaint with the Oilers front office,” Dylan says with a huff, but he’s moving in to hug Connor at the same time, so it loses whatever bite it might have had. 

Connor laughs, patting Dylan on the back as they hug. “Good to see you, man, really,” he says. “You ready to go?” 

“Yeah, I’m starving,” Dylan says. “Lead the way.”

They head toward the parking garage, Dylan talking a mile a minute about his trip up to Edmonton, complete with extensive complaining about how cold it is compared to the desert, which segues neatly into complaining about how hot the desert is. Ryan nods along, too distracted by the knowledge that they’re about to _tell_ Dylan. He wonders if it’ll make it feel more real. It probably will. Fuck, that's exciting. 

They’re almost to Ryan’s car when Connor hides a yawn behind his hand, and Dylan stops talking mid-sentence to raise his eyebrows at him. “Am I boring you already?” he teases.

“I bet Davo’s just tired,” Ryan says. He smirks at Connor, fully aware that Connor most definitely _is_ tired because of how late he was up with Ryan last night. 

“No thanks to you, asshole,” Connor says, hitting Ryan in the chest. Ryan catches his arm and grins at him, unapologetic. Connor smiles back, clearly in spite of himself.

“What does _that_ mean?” Dylan asks. He’s stopped walking a few feet ahead of them and is staring, looking from Connor to Ryan and back again.

Ryan immediately lets go of Connor’s arm, and Connor takes a step away from Ryan. “Uh…” Connor says.

“We kind of have something to tell you, actually,” Ryan jumps in when Connor doesn’t say anything else. At least this means they can do this sooner rather than later. Ryan obviously wasn’t going to be able to hide it for very long, anyway. 

“Oh?” Dylan asks.

Ryan glances at Connor, unsure, but Connor nods at him. They never discussed how they were going to word this, so Ryan goes for what’s most simple and hopes that Connor doesn’t protest: “We’re dating.”

Dylan keeps staring for a long, tense moment. “You’re… what?” 

“Dating,” Connor says. 

The longer Dylan doesn’t say anything, the more uncomfortable Ryan feels, especially because Dylan is only looking at Connor now. He’s about to say that it’s only been a couple weeks, taking the silence to mean that Dylan is mad that they haven’t said anything yet, but Dylan opens his mouth first.

“You’re dating my brother?” he asks, disbelieving. “You can’t do that.”

Connor lets out a quick, incredulous laugh. “What?” 

“You can’t date Ryan,” Dylan repeats. “That’s… that’s against bro code. You’re supposed to be _my_ best friend.” 

Connor’s face falls before he tempers it into a guarded, carefully neutral expression, and Ryan immediately wants to punch Dylan for making him look like that. “What the fuck, Dylan,” Ryan says. “You can’t tell him what not to do.” 

Dylan turns his glare on Ryan. “ _You’re_ not supposed to mack on my friends, dude.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ryan says, scoffing. “He’s his own person, so I don’t see what your problem is. Unless you actually have feelings for him, in which case you probably shouldn’t have broken his heart, and you definitely shouldn’t have lied about it when I asked.”

“I didn’t fucking lie about anything, what the hell?” Dylan says.

Ryan shakes his head. He can’t believe Dylan is acting like this. “When I called you, you said nothing ever happened, but you rejected him. That’s a bit more than just Connor acting weird.” 

“Oh, come on,” Dylan says, his voice increasing in volume as he talks. “So maybe I left some parts out, but I didn’t know they were any of your fucking business, because I didn’t know you were trying to fuck my best friend!” 

“Lying by omission is a lie, too!” Ryan yells back. 

“Both of you need to shut up,” Connor says loudly. “Or, you know what, I’m leaving anyway. Shout about me all you fucking want.”

He turns and walks away, heading in the direction Ryan is pretty sure his car is in. Both Ryan and Dylan stare after him. He disappears around a corner, and Ryan snaps out of it and realizes what just happened. 

“I swear to fucking God, Dylan,” he says, glaring at him. “You better not follow and keep picking a fight.” 

He doesn’t wait around to see if Dylan is going to listen to him before running after Connor. He only just gets to him when he’s about to open his car door. “Connor, wait,” Ryan says. Thankfully, Connor does stop and turn around. Ryan doesn’t know what he would have done if Connor ignored him.

He doesn’t know what to do with _this_ , either. He can’t stand Connor looking at him with that despondent expression. He reaches for him, taking Connor’s face in his hands and brushing one of his thumbs over Connor’s cheekbone.

“Hey,” he says quietly, “don’t listen to him. I don’t fucking care what he thinks.”

Connor doesn’t move, but he only makes eye contact for a second before looking away again, his gaze focused somewhere over Ryan’s shoulder. “You do,” he says. “He’s your brother.” 

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a total asshole sometimes,” Ryan says. “I don’t know what the hell is up with him, but it doesn’t make a difference to how I feel about you.”

Connor seems to hesitate, biting his lip, and then pulls away. Ryan closes his hands around empty air and then lets them drop. “It made a difference when you were calling him to talk about me.”

Ryan’s heart sinks. “That was—”

Connor shakes his head, effectively stopping Ryan from continuing. “I can’t do this right now,” he says. “We have a game later.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Please, Ry,” Connor says, voice breaking as he turns away, and Ryan is helpless in the face of that. He wants to talk about this, but it’s not going to help if Connor doesn’t want to listen. 

“Okay,” he says, defeated. “Just… talk to me when you’re ready, okay?” 

Connor nods and gets into his car. Ryan stands there, watching as Connor drives away from him. He feels a sense of deja vu that has him mad at himself for getting into this mess. He wasn’t expecting Dylan to react the way he did at all, but with all the information he had, maybe he should have. Maybe he should have been more cautious and not pushed Connor into this because he wanted him too much to let it go. 

Too fucking late now. 

 

**Three**

The fact that Connor has been taking pre-game naps all his life is the only reason he manages to fall asleep when he gets home. He still feels awful when he wakes up, dreading going back to the arena, and he’s angry at himself for it. He _really_ can’t do this right now. He has to be a professional.

He makes himself go, and he manages to get downtown without nearly getting hit in the traffic circle and having to pull over because his hands are shaking too badly to drive, which is more than he can say for his drive home earlier. When he gets inside, he ropes Nuge and Leon into kicking a soccer ball around with him as soon as possible—if he’s preoccupied, it’s less weird to be avoiding Ryan, and distracting himself is definitely for the best right now.

There’s no getting out of the quieter moment in the locker room when they’re all taping their sticks and putting on their gear, though, and Connor can’t stop himself from sneaking glances at Ryan across the room. He’s looking away, thank fuck, and Connor’s gut twists.

The worst part is that Connor isn’t even sort of mad at Ryan. He can’t stop thinking about the look on Ryan’s face when he chased after Connor and the way he held Connor’s face in his hands so gently. Connor wanted so badly to be upset with him and with Dylan, but Ryan’s genuine concern and complete disregard for Dylan’s words left Connor sure that the person most deserving of anger is himself.

Connor has been more and more sure that he wants to be with Ryan with every passing day over the past couple weeks, and he was genuinely excited to put the last nail in a coffin that should have been long buried by telling Dylan about their relationship. He thought that Dylan would be happy for them—or, at worst, that he wouldn’t really care. 

Instead, Dylan protested, and for a second, Connor felt hope spark in his chest. 

He forces himself to stop looking over at Ryan and finish getting ready for warmups. He braces for it before heading out there, afraid that Dylan might look at him wrong and he won’t be able to hold it together anymore. 

It turns out, as usual, that he shouldn’t have worried. Dylan doesn’t so much as acknowledge him.

He’s able to focus on warming up until he catches sight of Ryan and Dylan posing for a photo, their matching jersey name plates clear as day from across the ice, lined up like a mockery of Connor’s life choices. 

Connor can be so fucking dumb, and it only took seconds for Dylan to make that abundantly clear. It was bad enough that Dylan just wanted to stake his claim as best friend without Ryan also bringing up that Dylan apparently told him there was never _anything_ between them. It wasn’t really a lie, sure, but it still hurt to hear.

Connor doesn’t know what he expected—except, yeah, actually, he does. He wanted Dylan to have been secretly harbouring feelings for Connor all this time. It’s stupid that Dylan decided to be a possessive asshole about their friendship, but it’s even stupider that Connor is still, somewhere deep down, hoping that it could be more.

Connor thinks about Ryan’s worried expression again and fights the urge to go stand in front of Zack’s next slapshot. Standing there with Ryan touching him and looking at him like that, Connor couldn’t—and still can’t—believe he was hung up on Dylan for so long. Ryan was right to be afraid of Connor’s feelings for Dylan, and Connor has no idea how to move forward from that.

He shakes his head at himself as he leaves the ice and takes a deep breath. He can’t do anything right now except put this in a compartment and play hockey. That, at least, is something he knows how to do.

The game is a decent one—even if they do have to win it in overtime, at least it wasn’t a loss. Connor heads home still going over the game in his head, dissecting what went wrong and what went well. 

The problem with compartmentalizing, though, is that Connor has always associated it with location. It makes sense to seal off everything but hockey at the rink, but lying in his bed at home is a whole different story. He wants to just go to sleep and not obsess, but his body is still wired and his brain is content to go in endless circles. 

He has no idea how long he’s been lying there trying to fall asleep and thinking about what an awful person he is instead when his phone screen turns on, abruptly flooding the room with bright light. It goes dark again after a second, and Connor stares apprehensively at the flashing notification light.

He reaches for it, then hesitates, heart in his throat. He wants it to be Ryan, but he’s also terrified that it’ll be Ryan, because there’s no way Connor will know what to say to him.

He can’t not look, though. He picks up the phone. Sure enough, it’s a text from Ryan.

_I shouldn’t have talked to Dylan about you, that was a betrayal of trust. It was before I heard the whole story from you, and I wanted to know if I’d be getting in the middle of something if I acted on how I felt about you. It’s not an excuse, it’s just killing me not being able to talk to you about this. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry about Dylan too. I hope you’re okay._

Connor wants to throw his phone across the room. It’s well into the early hours of the morning, and Ryan is still awake, composing heartfelt apologies when he didn’t do anything wrong. Connor’s chest hurts. 

He starts to type a response telling Ryan that it’s not his fault, but he erases it because he’s afraid Ryan will ask what the problem actually is. But then again, he _should_ tell Ryan what the actual problem is. He starts to type _I’m an idiot and you should find someone better,_ but then erases that, too. He can’t text Ryan something that pathetic. 

_Stop worrying about me_ , he types instead. He stares at it for a moment, then backspaces and types, _We shouldn’t have done this_.

That’s what it comes down to, really. Connor is permanently ruined by his own feelings for Dylan, and it was never fair of him to drag Ryan into that mess. No matter how he words it, whatever he texts is effectively telling Ryan to cut his losses and run, because it’s on Connor to make sure this doesn’t get any worse. 

Connor can’t bring himself to hit send. He erases the text and puts down his phone.

 

Practice the next day is awkward, to say the least. Connor has never been so glad to not be on a line or special unit with Ryan; he manages to get out of the arena without having looked directly at Ryan all morning, and he feels absolutely terrible about it. 

As much as he’d like to go home and pity himself for the rest of his life, the Leafs are getting in that afternoon ahead of the game tomorrow, and Connor already made plans to get coffee with Auston before everything went to shit. He could probably get out of it, but Auston would definitely make him feel guilty, and he’s already carrying around his fair share of that.

“You look like shit, bud,” Auston says as soon as he sees Connor. He sits down across from Connor at the table in the coffee shop and raises his eyebrows in question. 

Connor scowls at him. “Thanks, man, means a lot,” he says. “How’s it going with you?” 

Auston grins. “I have _great_ news,” he says. “You sure you don’t want to talk about whatever’s got you looking like someone just ran over you with a tractor?” 

“Definitely not,” Connor says. He’d much rather listen to Auston be a huge gossip. “Let’s hear the great news.” 

Thankfully, Auston lets it go. Unfortunately, the next thing out of his mouth is, “It has to do with your boy Dylan Strome.” 

Auston waits, clearly expecting a response, but Connor just clenches his teeth and nods for him to go on. 

“So here’s the really good part,” Auston says, “Mitch definitely likes me.”

“Congrats,” Connor says. He even mostly means it; it’s been sort of awful to hear about Auston trying to seduce Mitch, even though Connor didn’t actually have to see most of it. 

“Thank you,” Auston says, practically preening. “But he told Dylan that last week, wanting to talk to him about it, you know, since they had a thing or whatever, and I guess Dylan took offence to getting dumped, because he accused Mitch of having been fucking both of us at the same time. It was completely fucking uncalled for. Mitch has been really upset about it.” 

Connor stares at Auston, incredulous, then looks down at his coffee cup. Suddenly Dylan acting like a total asshole for seemingly no reason makes perfect sense. He shakes his head. “Unbelievable,” he says. “I should have fucking known. Everything is about Mitch.” 

Auston frowns. “Wait, what?” 

Connor hesitates, then sighs. “So, uh… I kind of got involved with Ryan Strome.”

Auston’s eyes widen. “What, you mean like you hooked up with him?”

Connor wishes it were that simple. He shrugs. “I mean, like, yesterday we told Dylan that we were dating,” he clarifies. 

“Oh, fuck, no way. And he was a dick?” Auston says.

Connor nods, his anger increasing with every passing second. He already knew he was stupid for having hope at all, but it’s even worse when the real reason Dylan was upset was because Mitch dumped him. It’s always been Mitch Marner for Dylan, and fuck Dylan for knowing that and still trying to have Connor without actually wanting him. Fuck Dylan for trying to ruin Connor and Ryan’s happiness just because he wasn’t happy himself.

“He told Ryan he couldn’t date me because I’m supposed to be his best friend,” Connor says bitterly. “Like we needed his permission first or some shit.” 

Auston shakes his head. “I fucking told you about that guy, man,” he says. “Even if he was upset, it’s a huge dick move to pretend he has any control over you or his brother.”

“No argument from me,” Connor says. 

“How did Ryan react?” Auston asks, curious.

“He was pissed at Dylan.”

“That’s good, so you guys are solid, right?” 

Connor shrugs, looking away. “I don’t know, I don’t think so. I think it’s better for him if I just let him think I’m pissed about Dylan’s reaction—which I fucking am now, anyway.”

Auston furrows his eyebrows. “Wait, what does that mean? You weren’t mad at Dylan before?” 

“Uh,” Connor says, wishing he’d thought that through before he said it. “Well… no. I was more, um… I thought maybe he was protesting because he might’ve changed his mind about… wanting to be with me.”

“Oh,” Auston says. “I didn’t know you were still into him. That’s rough, dude.” 

“Yeah, neither did I,” Connor says. “Turns out I’m a fucking joke who will never get over Dylan, and Ryan should date someone else.”

“Okay, wow, that’s even rougher,” Auston says, eyebrows raised high. “You need a self-esteem boost, man, what the fuck? Listen, I don’t know him, but Ryan seems like a decent guy. He probably deserves to hear the truth, you know? If you still wanna be with him, maybe he should be allowed to make up his own mind about it as well.” 

“There’s no point in that,” Connor says.

“Oh, fuck off,” Auston says. He looks at Connor, appraising, and then leans forward, expression serious. “Here’s what you really have to think about: if Dylan came to you and wanted to date right now, would you drop everything to say yes? Give that a real good think, because if you managed to take him out of the picture, that would make my life a lot easier.” 

Connor snorts. “Dylan doesn’t want to be out of the picture, bud, sorry to tell you.”

Auston shrugs. “It’s a what if scenario,” he says. “Just think about it.” 

Connor sighs and drags his hands down his face. “Fine,” he says into them. “I’ll think about it.”

“What’s that, buddy? Couldn’t hear you.”

Connor moves his hands and glares at Auston’s shit-eating grin. “I said I’ll think about it. I guess it sounds like good advice or whatever.” 

“Fucking right it is,” Auston says. 

 

If Ryan had known Connor was going to completely avoid him, he might not have let him drive away after all. After four days without a single word, Ryan can’t help but feel like he let this happen.

He hopelessly checks their text thread to see if a reply from Connor has magically appeared. It hasn’t. It makes sense, because Ryan can see Connor, and he isn’t on his phone, but he can’t help himself.

They’re waiting on the tarmac to take off for Calgary. Ryan normally sits a bit closer to the front with JJ, but today he doesn’t feel like talking to anyone, so he’s at the back with his headphones on. He’s watching as Connor takes a seat a few rows up, and he’s distracted enough that JJ surprises him when he leans into the row.

“Hey,” JJ says when Ryan pushes one side of his headphones off his ear. “You okay?”

Ryan nods. “It’s just early,” he says. “Thinking I might try to sneak that extra hour of sleep.”

JJ, bless the kid, accepts that easily. “Join us for cards later if you change your mind,” he says before turning to go back to the front of the plane.

Ryan’s excuse wasn’t a stretch, considering he could genuinely use the sleep and probably looks it, but he definitely isn’t going to manage it any better on this plane than he has in his own bed. He can’t help but look over at Connor again; he’s still sitting alone, staring out the window of the plane.

The longer this silence stretches on, the more Ryan’s sneaking suspicion that he was just a replacement for Dylan takes ahold of his brain. If he _was_ a replacement, then Dylan’s reaction might have made Connor realize that Ryan was never going to measure up, and he’s avoiding Ryan now because he doesn’t want to straight up dump him.

Ryan thinks he would rather be dumped than this. He checks for a text from Connor again even though Connor hasn’t moved. There’s nothing but the little blue checkmark telling him that Connor read his text.

He’s about to put his phone on flight mode when it vibrates. His heart skips a beat, but the text notification isn’t from Connor—it’s from Dylan. 

_I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said all those things the way I did, but you should have asked me first._

Ryan resists the urge to drop his phone and stomp on it for good measure. He types, _Are you serious right now???? I don’t need your permission and once again neither does Connor so fuck off._

He sends the text, puts his phone on flight mode, and seethes. It’s early as hell for Dylan to be texting him, and Ryan would be touched to get an early morning apology if it looked at all like Dylan had put a single thought into it. God, he had no idea his brother could be quite _this_ much of an asshole.

Ryan looks over at Connor as the plane starts moving toward the runway and wonders if he got a text from Dylan as well. If he did at the same time, he probably hasn’t seen it yet. He contemplates how easy it would be to steal Connor’s phone and delete whatever nonsense Dylan sent him so that he doesn’t have to see it, then dismisses that thought as something a crazy person would do.

Looking at Connor makes him angry all over again, though, and when he unlocks his phone, Dylan’s text is still staring him in the face. He glares at the screen, then starts typing and sending texts.

_Besides, congrats, you got what you wanted_

_Now I’m miserable and I’m pretty sure Connor is too … can’t say for sure because he won’t talk to me so thanks!!!_

The texts don’t actually go anywhere except to a pending bubble, but it makes feel Ryan feel marginally better to type them. Unfortunately, that margin goes away the second he looks up and at Connor again, and it’s not long before he’s feeling bitter all over again and reopening the thread to send more.

_How are you??_

_Happy_??

_Everything cool with you????_

_You wanted to keep your friend all to yourself, so how’s that looking?_

_If I had to guess I’d say not good_

Ryan keeps sending Dylan texts to stop himself from staring at Connor for the entire flight. He doesn't need to look at him, anyway; he can’t stop picturing Connor’s sad expression as it is. They desperately need to talk about this, but Ryan doesn’t think he’s going to be able to force Connor into this one. That’s what he did last time, and that’s how they ended up in this mess. 

_Maybe if you’d told me he was in love with you I would have backed off and we’d all be happier right now._

_If you wanted him to yourself you could’ve taken your chance when you had it_

_Why the fuck wouldn’t you anyway??? Marner can’t be anywhere near as good as Connor?????_

_That’s probably unfair I don’t know him but you don’t make any sense to me so_

_Fuck, Dylan._

It’s only an hour-long flight, and Ryan spends most of it typing increasingly incoherent things into the text thread. When the plane lands, Ryan deletes all the unsent texts before he takes his phone off flight mode. Letting those texts send wouldn’t make him feel better any more than typing them did.

 

They manage to hold off the Flames for a win that night, and then it’s right back on the plane to Edmonton. They don’t have anything scheduled in the morning after the late night, but Ryan’s body decides he needs to wake up early anyway, and no matter how many times he rolls over, he can’t convince it otherwise.

Eventually he concedes defeat and gets up. He wanders into the kitchen and eats a protein bar he finds in a cupboard. From where he’s standing at the kitchen counter, he can see his still-empty living room, a keen reminder that it was only a week ago that a day off meant heading over to Connor’s to hang out. It feels like it’s been months since then. It feels like years since Connor sat at this very counter and smiled at Ryan before taking shots of tequila. 

Ryan goes back to bed. He’s supposed to go to the team’s ugly Christmas sweater party tonight, but he’s already trying to figure out the best person to text that he’s sick in order to get out of it. There’s no way he’ll be able to stand Connor avoiding him all night while wearing the stupid sweater he picked out while shopping with Connor.

After a few minutes of trying to go back to sleep just to avoid his own mind, Ryan gives up again and starts looking at couches online. It’s a useless endeavour, because he’s never going to buy a fucking couch from the internet. If he were, then he would have bought any old couch when he went shopping with Connor, and then he would never have spent so much time at Connor’s house, and then he wouldn’t be lying here feeling miserable right now. 

It’s an appealing thought for all of a second before Ryan thinks about kissing Connor right here in this bed. He thinks about Connor being so concerned about making sure Ryan felt welcome in Edmonton, Connor nudging Ryan’s foot from the other end of his couch while they watch TV, Connor laughing when Ryan does his best impression of a crazed McDavid fan. As cheesy as it is, he wouldn’t trade any of those moments for anything.

Ryan closes his furniture shopping tabs and open his text thread with Connor again. He stares at it, feeling vaguely nauseous. The longer he thinks about it, the more convinced he becomes that Connor must be avoiding him out of guilt. Connor leaving his apology on read can’t be meaningless, and the most obvious meaning is that it wasn’t really about Ryan talking to Dylan. The most obvious conclusion from _that_ is that Connor never did manage to get over Dylan.

Ryan wants to regret going over to Connor’s and taking “I’m getting there” as an acceptable answer, but then he thinks about Connor holding his hand under the mistletoe, smiling at him with hot chocolate staining the corner of his mouth, and he can’t. 

But he can’t keep wondering, either. He starts to type.

_Hey, I get that you don’t want to talk to me, but I just want to say I’m sorry again. This is my fault … I knew you weren’t fully over Dylan and shouldn’t have pushed you. It’s ok if you don’t want to do this with me anymore, just please tell me. I’d rather you break it off than ignore me forever._

Ryan hesitates, reading the text over and over before he finally convinces himself to hit send. He locks his phone and puts it down. He manages not to touch it for a couple minutes, staring at the ceiling and trying to convince himself that it’s going to be okay, and then he picks it back up and opens Instagram instead of the messaging app. He scrolls through his feed for a moment, not registering a single picture, and then switches back to the text thread.

His heart skips a beat when he sees that the checkmarks are filled in. A moment later, the little dots that indicate Connor typing appear, just like they did the last time Ryan texted him. He worries at his lower lip, hoping that this time Connor will actually say something. Ryan would take anything. He might even actually be okay with rejection, because at least then— 

At least then Connor might have a conversation with him. Even if Connor does break up with him, if they could just talk it out, they might figure out a way to at least salvage their friendship.

Ryan waits, watching as the dots appear and disappear like Connor is starting and stopping as he types, until finally they disappear seemingly for good. They’re not replaced by a text from Connor.

Ryan gives it another minute and then sends, _I miss you_. If nothing else, the truth never hurts. 

 

_I’d rather you break it off than ignore me forever._

Connor stares at Ryan’s text, trying to put into words the visceral feeling of wrongness it gives him. Ryan trying to help Connor break up with him—Ryan thinking that Connor _wants_ that—is just awful. If Ryan wants to dump Connor, then okay, but Connor isn’t going to be the one to do it.

He stops typing midway through a sentence. If he’s not going to break up with Ryan, then what the fuck is he doing here? Why is he moping around like it’s already over?

It’s that thought that gets him out of his bed and shoving his bare feet into the closest shoes to the door. He grabs his keys and gets into his car.

He makes it halfway to Ryan’s place before he realizes that he still has no idea what he’s actually going to say when he gets there. He ends up driving right past the turn onto Ryan’s street and parks on the next street over. He looks down at his feet and lets out a short, slightly hysterical laugh—he’s wearing dress shoes with his sweats. Fuck, what is he _doing_? 

Connor looks at his phone again, hoping it’ll remind him what he came over here to say. There’s a new text from Ryan, though, one that just says _I miss you_. 

Connor closes his eyes. His chest hurts with how much he misses Ryan back. It reminds him of how he felt when he realized that Dylan had rejected him for Mitch: a steady, constant ache that only time eased. And the thing is—sure, he still loves Dylan, but it doesn’t hurt him to miss him anymore. He had a knee-jerk reaction to Dylan protesting because he can’t just erase how he used to feel about Dylan, but that doesn’t mean that Connor still actually wants to be with him. 

It hurts to think about Ryan, and Ryan didn’t even do anything to make Connor feel like that. That was Dylan trying to break Connor’s heart for a second time, and this time, Connor doesn’t have to let it happen.

He puts the car in drive and turns around. He still doesn’t know what he’s going to say, but if nothing else, he can always start with _I miss you, too._

He gets out of the car and rings Ryan’s doorbell without hesitating after parking outside, not wanting to give himself the opportunity to drive away. It only takes a minute for Ryan to open the door, and he immediately looks horrified when he does.

“Why the hell aren’t you wearing a coat?” Ryan asks. “Get the fuck in here, you’ll catch your fucking death.” 

Connor hadn’t even really registered the cold, too busy panicking, but he gets inside. It wouldn’t be very fun to have this conversation on the doorstep, anyway.

They don’t get very far inside before Ryan seems to remember himself. He closes the door behind Connor and then hovers by it, looking unsure. “You look terrible,” he says. 

Connor could say the same about Ryan; he has exhaustion written all over him, and all Connor wants to do is hug him. He shrugs and puts his hands into the pockets of his sweats instead. “I’ve been getting that a lot lately.” 

Ryan nods and doesn’t say anything else. Connor swallows hard and fidgets. This is definitely the part where he’s supposed to say something. 

“So, uh, I’ve been thinking…” he starts, “maybe I’m not entirely over Dylan, and maybe I’m never going to be.”

Ryan’s expression shutters. “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine,” he says quickly. “I hope we can still be friends, because I meant it when I said I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” Connor says. Fuck, he meant to start with that, and now he’s made Ryan start acting like this a fucking breakup conversation. “But no, this isn’t—well, let me finish, okay?” 

Ryan is frowning, but he nods. 

“Okay, I think I started wrong,” Connor says carefully. “So, uh… I was never really mad at you, and I’m sorry for letting you think I was. It’s just… Dylan’s been a huge part of my life for years, and I don’t think I can turn that off, but… the way I feel about him and the way I feel about you are totally different.” 

“Are you sure?” Ryan asks, still looking guarded. “Because I can’t handle thinking that I’m just a stand-in for Dylan. I can’t be that.” 

Connor stares at him in shock. “ _No_ ,” he says. “I mean, yes, I’m sure, I’ve never… I’ve _never_ thought that. All the reasons I’m into you are things Dylan would never do.”

Ryan doesn’t say anything, and his expression is doubtful, so Connor just keeps talking.

“You always know what to say, and you think it’s hilarious to torture me about fans in the mall, and you stop to look at the sky because it’s always the same. You can’t make a decision to save your fucking life because you’re so thoughtful, and when you smile at me, I—” Connor takes a deep breath. “You’re nothing like Dylan.” 

“Connor, I…” Ryan says, voice quiet. Connor has to resist the urge to reach for him. Ryan shakes his head. “Okay, but what does that mean for us now?” 

“I don’t know,” Connor says, shrugging helplessly. “I’ve been thinking about what I’d do if Dylan decided he wanted to be with me right now, and honestly, the answer is that I wouldn’t want to. You should probably dump me, anyway, because I’ll always be a little fucked up over him, but that’s up to you. I… I really don’t want to break up.” 

“What do you want, then?” Ryan asks. “Do you… want to start over?” 

Connor shakes his head. “I don’t want to forget or wipe the slate clean or whatever. I’ve already made up my mind, so it’s whatever you want.”

Ryan doesn’t say anything for long enough that Connor starts to feel uncomfortable. He waits, afraid that Ryan is going to decide that he can’t do this after all. Connor obviously wouldn’t blame him, but the idea already feels like something crushing his chest.

He starts talking again just to fill the silence. “And of course we can still be friends no matter what, because I—”

“Okay,” Ryan interrupts.

Connor freezes. “Okay what?” 

Ryan takes two steps forward and kisses Connor. Connor sways back in surprise, then closes his eyes and leans into it, sliding one hand into the short hair at the back of Ryan’s neck and resting the other on Ryan’s hip.

“Okay,” Ryan murmurs against Connor’s lips. Connor’s heart swells, and he kisses Ryan again. 

It doesn’t take long for the kissing to turn open-mouthed and messy. Ryan walks Connor backward until he hits the wall of the entryway and then settles his weight against him, pinning him there. Connor makes a soft noise of approval and tightens his grip on Ryan’s hair. Fuck, he's missed this. 

Ryan starts trailing kisses down the side of Connor’s neck until he reaches his collarbone. He scrapes his teeth lightly across Connor’s skin and then starts sucking a bruise exactly where he knows it makes Connor go boneless the fastest. Connor lets his head fall back against the wall, his toes curling. 

After a minute, Ryan pulls back to admire his handiwork. He rests his forehead on Connor’s shoulder, and Connor is so blissed out that he’s content to let him pause.

Ryan’s shoulders start shaking a few seconds later, and Connor is startled out of his fog, scared for a moment, before he realizes that Ryan is muffling laughter in the shoulder of Connor’s hoodie. “Your fucking dress shoes and sweats,” he manages to say.

“Shut up,” Connor says automatically, and Ryan laughs harder.

Connor grins in spite of himself and nudges at Ryan’s shoulders to get him to step back. He does, and Connor kneels down to untie his shoelaces. 

Ryan abruptly stops laughing, and when Connor looks up at him, he’s staring down at Connor with a look in his eyes that makes Connor’s breath catch. Connor smirks at him and very deliberately lets his gaze wander down Ryan’s body and back up, taking in the way his hands are reaching for Connor, his dick obviously half-hard in his sweats and his face flushed red. He looks beautiful. 

“Bedroom,” Ryan says, turning and walking in that direction.

Connor hurries to get his shoes off and follows, feeling almost giddy with happiness. He’s so relieved that Ryan still wants to do this with him. He jogs a little to catch up and hugs Ryan from behind when he’s almost to the bed. Connor smacks a kiss on his cheek, and Ryan laughs. 

“Missed you,” he says before turning his head to catch Connor’s lips. He turns in Connor’s arms as they kiss and then puts his hands down the back of Connor’s sweats, pulling him closer by the ass. He digs his fingers in a little, and Connor makes a noise of surprise into Ryan's mouth and pulls away. 

“Missed you, too,” he says, shoving his hands underneath Ryan's shirt. “Get this off.”

He regrets it a bit when Ryan has to take his hands off Connor to do so, but it’s worth it when they’re both shirtless and pressed against each other. Ryan’s skin is flushed and warm, and Connor wants to touch him everywhere.

Connor pulls Ryan with him the last few steps to the bed and sits down, sliding back so he’s leaning against the headboard. Ryan follows his lead, crawling after him and settling into Connor’s lap.

Ryan grinds down against Connor almost painfully slow. Connor tries to grab Ryan's hips to control their rhythm, but Ryan takes his hands and laces their fingers together. He gives a Connor a crooked smile like he knows exactly how crazy he’s driving Connor, and Connor swears, pushing his hips up insistently. 

“Patience,” Ryan teases, leaning in to kiss him again. He bites Connor’s lower lip, tugging a little, and Connor moans because he knows it’ll make Ryan lose his rhythm completely. 

“Fuck,” Ryan breathes, grinding down a little harder. Connor would be embarrassed about how hard he is already, but Ryan isn’t any better off, and Connor needs Ryan to touch him. It feels like years since they last did this. 

“Fuck patience. Come on, Ry,” Connor says, letting Ryan’s hands go so that he can reach for the waistband of Ryan’s pants. “Need you to touch me, please, need you--”

“Yeah, Connor, fuck,” Ryan agrees, and they manage to maneuver so they’ve got their pants out of the way and their hands on each other’s dicks. Neither of them are teasing anymore, but it’s far from the easiest or most coordinated way to get off. Connor doesn’t care. It’s the best handjob he’s ever had in his life, because it means he hasn’t fucked this all up. 

Connor comes when Ryan bites his neck right where he left the bruise earlier, his forehead pressed against Ryan's shoulder and his fingernails digging into Ryan's arm. When he comes back to himself, Ryan is still fucking into the loose grip of Connor's hand, his eyes closed and his kiss-bruised lips parted slightly. 

“Fuck, you look so good like this, Ry,” Connor says, tightening his grip at the head of Ryan's dick, and Ryan comes with a gasp, curling his body into Connor’s and panting against his neck as Connor works him through it. 

They stay there for a moment, breathing hard, and then Ryan moves off Connor’s lap to lie down, and Connor sinks down into the bed. 

After they’ve managed to catch their breath, Ryan rolls over on top of Connor and nudges their noses together. Connor smiles dumbly at him and brushes Ryan's hair back from where it's sticking to his forehead slightly. 

“You got anywhere to be?” Ryan asks.

Connor hums thoughtfully. “Not ‘til the team Christmas party tonight,” he says. “I was gonna try to skip it, but now… I was kind of looking forward to seeing you in that stupid sweater. You up for it?” 

Ryan makes a face. “I’m against everywhere that’s not this bed, but I guess so.”

Connor laughs. “Me too, but we’re a mess. If we don’t move eventually, we’re gonna get stuck like this. Pretty fucking gross, kinda ruins the perfection.” 

“Bullshit,” Ryan teases. “It doesn’t get more perfect than this.” 

Connor laughs, but he can’t argue with that at all. He leans up and kisses the corner of Ryan’s mouth just to see him grin, marvelling all over again that he gets to have this. Connor hopes he never gets used to it.

 

Ryan is surprised by just how easy it is to fall back into the same easy routine of hockey and hanging out with Connor that they had in the days before Dylan’s visit. It’s hard to be subtle about it when he just wants to be touching Connor all the time, and Ryan can’t bring himself to care. After two weeks, he’s pretty sure at least Darnell knows what’s going on, if not others on the team, but Ryan’s content to not talk about it and let them think whatever they want.

They’re lying on the couch at Connor’s, the TV tuned to the movie channel and their feet tangled together in the middle, when Connor looks up from his phone and sighs. Ryan looks over at him and raises an eyebrow in question.

Connor sits up slightly, a serious expression on his face, and Ryan reaches for the remote to turn the TV’s volume down. “Have you seen Dylan’s finsta lately?”

Ryan most definitely has seen the increasingly sad posts with overly emotional quotes about lost love on Dylan’s locked Instagram. Thanks to Connor, he knows that it’s about Mitch, and Ryan genuinely feels bad for him, but it’s still pretty embarrassing to see. If he had ever gotten a real apology from Dylan, Ryan probably would have called him to talk, if only to tell him to stop posting about it. As it is, he’s still angry at him.

He’s kind of surprised that Connor is bringing it up at all. It’s definitely still something hanging in the air between them; beyond Connor telling him what he learned from his conversation with Auston, they’ve pretty much avoided talking about Dylan. Connor’s feelings about Dylan aside, it’s awkward to know that their relationship is the reason both of them aren’t talking to Dylan. 

“Yeah, I’ve seen it,” Ryan says. “Pretty rough, eh?” 

“Yeah,” Connor agrees. “I hate to bring it up, but it kinda sucks that I haven’t been, like… talking to him? So I think we need to try and do something about that?”

Ryan nods. “I was thinking I would talk to him at Christmas,” he says. “I’m going to see him then, anyway, so I might as well tell him that this isn’t going away.”

Connor smiles a little at that before sobering again. He worries at his lip for a moment before asking, “Not to, uh, invite myself to your family Christmas, but can I come?” 

Ryan is surprised enough that he doesn’t say anything right away. It’s one thing to tell Dylan that this isn’t going away and a whole other statement to bring Connor to their family gathering, but Ryan doesn’t hate the idea. In fact, he probably likes it a little too much. He has this vivid image in his mind of Connor sitting next to him in his parents’ dining room, and he suddenly fiercely wants to be reality.

“Really?” he asks. “I wasn’t sure you’d… want to have that conversation again?”

Connor shakes his head. “I want to be there if you want me there,” he says. “I don’t have to come for the holiday part, I could just come to talk to Dylan. If we’re going to keeping doing this, it can’t be weird with Dylan, you know? It might take more than one conversation to get his stubborn ass to listen, but we might as well start trying together.”

Ryan doesn’t doubt that they’ll be able to work things out with Dylan eventually, but he’s definitely been worried about how Connor might react if it didn’t happen right away. It’s a relief to hear Connor acknowledge that it’s a possibility and be ready to keep trying.

“Together,” Ryan echoes, intending to agree, but Connor doesn’t let him get any farther than that.

“And, actually, uh… I was thinking it might be nice if you came around to my parents’ for dinner? We’re going to have one night where it’s pretty lowkey, so… I don’t know, I’d just like it if you were there.”

Ryan likes the thought of Connor wanting him to spend Christmas with his family so much that it almost doesn’t feel real. “Are we doing the whole parents thing?” he asks.

Connor shrugs slightly. “If you think it’s too soon, no big deal,” he says. “I know you have a lot of reasons to not trust that we’re there yet, and that’s fine. I can wait.”

Ryan is surprised by how much he doesn’t think that it’s too soon. He probably should, but, well—if Ryan minded being too deep in it with Connor, he would have bailed out when he had the chance. As it is, he smiles broadly at Connor. “No, I want to,” he says. “And I want you to come to mine, too.”

Connor smiles back at him. “Cool,” he says. “Are we going to give Dylan a heads-up? I don’t know if we should spring something like that on him again.”

Ryan can’t argue with that. “I’ll let my parents know to expect an extra at dinner,” he says. “My mom will definitely mention it to Dylan, and he’s not dumb. Not entirely, anyway.” He picks his phone up off the table and swipes to unlock it.

“What, right now?” Connor asks.

Ryan stops and looks up at Connor. “Yeah, why not?” 

Connor swings his legs off the couch and leans across to kiss Ryan. “Because I can think of something better we could be doing.”

Ryan puts his phone back down. “I’ll call later.”

 

Connor has been in the Strome house a lot over the years, but he’s never really gone into Ryan’s bedroom before. Stepping inside it brings back the surreal feeling Connor has been slowly shaking off since they arrived at the house, but it’s tempered by his relief at being able to get away from the conversation downstairs for a moment.

Connor’s nerves increased steadily in the week since they agreed to join each other for Christmas, but now that he’s here, it’s not nearly as weird as he feared. It’s been nice to talk to Matt and the Strome parents, though Connor thinks a lot of that is thanks to Matt dispelling some of the awkwardness by jokingly asking Ryan whether he should start bringing his friends around in case things didn’t work out with Connor. 

Dylan’s been uncharacteristically quiet, though, and that worries Connor. They can’t exactly talk to him properly in front of everyone. Connor doesn’t want to ruin Christmas Eve by causing a scene, so he’s glad that Ryan brought them up here so he can take a moment to steel himself before sitting through an entire meal with Dylan on the other side of the table.

Ryan’s room is more for guests now, but one wall still proudly displays the awards and trophies of his youth. Connor wanders over to it and starts reading the plaques.

“Lacrosse tournament MVP, eh?” he says, reaching out to tap one.

Ryan hooks his chin over Connor’s shoulder and wraps his arms around Connor’s waist. Connor hums in appreciation, leaning into him. “I’m a well-rounded athlete,” Ryan says into Connor’s ear.

“I bet you are,” Connor says nonsensically, and Ryan laughs. 

They stand there in comfortable silence for another minute before Ryan pulls away and says, “I actually brought you up here for a reason.” 

“Oh?” Connor says, curious, as he turns around. 

Ryan nods and picks something wrapped in bright green and red striped paper up off the edge of the bed. “I got you something,” he says, offering the package to Connor. “Didn’t want to make you open it in front of everyone else in case you didn’t have anything to give me in return, so…”

Connor takes the package. It’s heavier than he would have expected. “Of course I have something for you,” he says. “Not with me, though. Are you sure you don’t want me to wait until tomorrow?”

Ryan shakes his head emphatically. “I don’t think _I_ can wait until tomorrow,” he says.

Connor laughs and doesn’t waste another second before ripping the paper. It comes away easily to reveal a navy blanket made of thick, slightly rough material. He unfolds it a bit, wondering if there’s some sort of design, but it just looks plain. “A blanket?” he asks, glancing up at Ryan.

Ryan smiles at him. “So we don’t have to lie on the ground the next time we go for a walk,” he explains.

“…oh,” Connor says. He looks from the blanket to Ryan’s face and back, blown away all over again by how thoughtful Ryan is. Connor can’t even formulate words to describe how much this boring blanket suddenly means to him. “Wow, I…”

“Good?” Ryan asks. 

“Really good.” Connor pulls Ryan into a hug and hopes it makes up for how woefully inadequate his words are. “Thank you.” 

“Of course.” Ryan hugs Connor back tight. It goes on for a bit longer before Ryan asks, mischievous, “So… what did you get me?” 

Connor pulls back from the hug to raise an eyebrow at Ryan. “What, you want me to just tell you?”

Ryan nods. “I’m curious,” he says defensively.

Connor shakes his head in mock consternation. “Are you _sure_?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Ryan complains. It’s a testament to how gone on him Connor is that he finds it endearing. “Come on.” 

“You’re ruining the spirit of Christmas,” Connor says, but then Ryan pouts at him, and he can’t resist. “Fine. It’s a gift certificate for The Brick.” 

Ryan bursts into laughter. “Oh, fuck,” he says between snickers. “Is it actually?” 

“Yes. You need a couch, Ry,” Connor says sternly, and that sets Ryan off laughing all over again. Connor grins, pleased to be getting exactly the reaction he wanted.

“You know that means you’ve signed up for another shopping trip,” Ryan says when he’s mostly stopped laughing.

Connor shrugs. “I guess that’s just my cross to bear,” he teases.

Just then, someone clears their throat from the doorway, and they both turn to see Dylan standing there awkwardly. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to…” He trails off and runs a hand down the lower half of his face, his expression pained. “Can I talk to you guys for a second?” 

“Yeah,” Ryan says. “We wanted to talk to you, actually, so.”

Dylan cringes slightly at that. “Well, um, I just… I’m happy to see you here, Connor.”

Ryan glances at Connor, expression guarded. It’s weird to see after he was just so loose and happy, and Connor doesn’t like it at all. He gives Ryan what he hopes is a reassuring smile and then looks back at Dylan.

Now that Dylan is right in front of him, Connor can tell that even though he’s clearly tried to dress nicely and do his hair to pretend he’s fine, he looks absolutely terrible. His undereye circles are worse than Connor has seen them in the middle of a playoff run. Connor hopes that Dylan isn’t about to be an asshole again, because they’ve always been there for each other, and it’s killing Connor to not be talking to Dylan when he’s obviously hurting.

“It’s good to see you, too,” he says honestly. 

Dylan nods awkwardly. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, clearly struggling for words. Both Connor and Ryan wait him out. “I don’t know if you heard or anything, but I… well, Mitch dumped me,” Dylan says. “Or maybe I accidentally dumped him, I’m not sure anymore. It’s not really an excuse, but it was, like, right before that day, so that’s why I got pissed when you guys told me.” 

“Maybe next time you should use your words,” Connor says gently. “Isn’t that what you always used to tell me? I was never going to stop being friends with you just because I’m dating your brother or whatever you thought.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dylan says. “Sorry for being a fucking idiot.”

“You should be,” Ryan says. His tone is significantly more harsh than Connor’s was. He puts a possessive arm around Connor’s waist and gestures between himself and Connor. “This is serious, and it’s not going anywhere, so Connor and I need you to be fine with that.”

“Good, that’s good,” Dylan says quickly. “I really am sorry, I know I don’t have a say. Honestly, I just want you both to be happy, so I’m glad you, uh… can be that for each other.” 

Connor can feel Ryan relax at that. There’s a bit of an awkward silence as they all stand there and look at each other for a moment, and then Ryan says, “Well, thank God that’s over. I was expecting you to be a lot more stubborn, Dyl, not gonna lie.”

Dylan shrugs, clearly still uncomfortable. “It turns out you have a lot of time to think when no one is talking to you,” he says. “Which, um, Connor? Can we talk more later? I think I have some more things to apologize for.” 

“Of course we can,” Connor says. Dylan nods, looking nervous all over again, and Connor immediately takes pity on him. “If it helps, I’m going to forgive you.”

Dylan cracks a bit of a smile at that. “That does help.” 

Connor pats Ryan’s hip reassuringly and then steps forward, arms spread in a clear offer of a hug. Dylan smiles wider and steps into them, squeezing Connor tight. “Thanks,” Dylan says when he lets go.

He looks hesitantly at Ryan, and Ryan raises an eyebrow at him. “Bring it in, kid,” Ryan says, gesturing for Dylan to hug him as well. Dylan does, and Ryan slaps him on the back. “There we go, feels better to get over yourself, right?”

They could be pointed words, but Ryan is clearly joking, and Dylan rolls his eyes as he steps away. “Yeah, yeah. So, it’s serious, eh?” Dylan says, his tone more teasing now that the tension in the air is broken. He flashes a half-smile at Connor. “Good thing there’s no one I’d rather have as a brother-in-law.”

“Whoa, slow down, buddy,” Ryan jokes. “You don’t get a say in the ring, either.” 

They all laugh at that. A few seconds later, Matt’s voice cuts through the moment as he yells for them to come eat. 

Connor feels lighter than he has in weeks as they head down the stairs. He’s looking forward to sitting down to talk with Dylan one-on-one—he really wants to get the story of Dylan’s conversation with Mitch unfiltered by Auston’s hatred—but for now it’s enough to know that they’re good again. 

Ryan spends all of dinner with his foot looped around Connor’s ankle, and Connor glances over to see Ryan looking fondly at him more than once. Connor is actually surprised when Dylan doesn’t chirp them for it at all—but then again, Dylan does catch Connor’s eye when Ryan isn’t looking and make an exaggeratedly disgusted face. Connor makes a face back and then hides his laugh in his water glass. He could definitely get used to this new normal.

Ryan coerces them all into playing Settlers of Catan after dinner. His parents refuse to join, which Connor doesn’t blame them for at all; he already knows how intense the Strome brothers get about their sheep. Sure enough, Dylan ends up throwing one of his cards at Matt’s head barely ten minutes into the game, and it only gets more competitive from there. Connor can’t really point fingers, though, considering he makes them all play again when Ryan wins just before Connor was about to.

Connor pulls out a big win in the second game, which is worth it even though he gets chirped to hell and back. They go hang out in the living room with the parents after that, but it’s not long before Dylan and Matt both wander away, noses stuck in their phones, and Ryan’s parents say goodnight when their movie ends soon after.

Ryan and Connor are left alone in the living room, settled into the same big armchair next to the electric fireplace. They should probably go to bed as well—Connor needs to get up early to go back to his parents’ for breakfast and presents in the morning—but Connor is too content to move from where he’s sitting half on Ryan’s lap with Ryan’s arm tucked comfortably around him.

Ryan is looking away from Connor at the fire, and Connor gets distracted by the curve of his nose and the line of his jaw. He can’t believe how lucky he is to be here. It’s still early as hell in their relationship, but all the ups and down they’ve gone through already just make Connor more sure that whatever comes next, it’s going to be good. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been staring before Ryan turns to look at him, the right side of his mouth curving upward like he can’t help it. Connor’s breath catches a little, and Ryan’s smile broadens.

“Hey,” he says, squeezing Connor’s hip.

“Hi,” Connor says dumbly. “Today went pretty well, eh?” 

“I think so,” Ryan agrees. “I guess that means I have a date for New Year’s Eve?” 

Connor smiles at him. “And any other time you want.” 

 

**Epilogue — January 2018**

“You have a couch!” Connor says cheerfully, sitting down on the middle of it as soon as the delivery men leave and beaming at Ryan. “I never thought I’d see the day.” 

Ryan puts his hands on his hips and considers his brand new couch from the middle of the room. It looks good, but Ryan is pretty biased. He had a lot of trouble in the furniture store because, on top of trying to find something that fit his specifications, Connor looked hot sitting on every couch he tried, and this time Ryan was allowed to stare at him. 

Connor raises a questioning eyebrow at him. “Are you… going to _sit_ on your couch?”

Ryan hums thoughtfully. “I don’t know if I like it right there,” he says, mostly to fuck with Connor.

Connor gets up and joins him. He’s quiet for a moment, looking at the couch and then the equally-new TV mounted on the wall behind them and back again. “Should we move it over, maybe?” 

“Yeah, maybe to the left a bit?” Ryan says.

They work together to move the couch a few feet over to the left, which definitely accomplishes making it totally off-centre. Ryan makes a show of stepping back to consider it before shaking his head. “Back the other way a little, I think,” he says. 

Connor doesn’t even look fazed as they move it back the other way, and Ryan wonders how long he can make Connor move the couch minute distances before he stops being so earnestly helpful about it. “Better?” Connor asks.

“That’s good, but I think it’s a little too close to the wall,” Ryan says. “Can we move it farther out into the room?” 

“Yeah, don’t want it to scrape the paint,” Connor says, nodding. Ryan bites the inside of his lip to stop himself from laughing; the couch is already far enough away from the wall to prevent that.

They move it about half a foot out anyway, and Connor looks at Ryan in question when they’re done. Ryan takes a second, trying to compose himself enough to deliver his next criticism in a serious tone. “Hm, maybe… back a bit again?” 

Connor moves like he’s going to pick up his end of the couch again, then stops abruptly. He eyes Ryan suspiciously, and Ryan fights not to show his amusement on his face. He cracks, though, the corner of his mouth betraying him, and Connor’s eyes widen. 

“Are you fucking with me?” he asks, incredulous, and Ryan immediately cracks up. “You are, you jerk! The couch isn’t moving from this spot now, asshole.”

Connor tackles Ryan onto the couch. Ryan lets himself be manhandled, unable to stop laughing, but he starts trying to wriggle away when Connor digs his fingers into Ryan’s sides. “No, no, mercy,” he gasps through his laughter.

“This is what you get,” Connor says, still tickling Ryan. Ryan tries to tickle him back, and Connor’s attempt to push his arms away makes Ryan almost slide off the couch backward, dragging Connor with him. Connor catches Ryan by the arms and pulls him back to safety. “Whoops.” 

Ryan takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down, and then tugs his arms away. Connor lets him, watching him carefully. “You win,” Ryan tells him. 

Connor fist pumps like a total dork. “You know, this couch is pretty comfy,” he says, grinning down at Ryan. “Good choice.”

“You’re not even really lying on it,” Ryan points out. Connor is kneeling instead, one leg in between Ryan’s. 

Connor raises an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?” 

It’s not, really, but Ryan knees Connor gently in the thigh just to make a point. Connor makes an undignified noise and moves so he’s more comfortably settled on top of Ryan. 

“Fine,” he grouses. “Better?”

“Much,” Ryan says, resting his hands on the small of Connor’s back. “And thank you, I thought the couch was a pretty good choice, too. Looks great with the lamp you made me buy.”

Connor pauses, glancing up at where Ryan knows the lamp is behind his head and then back at Ryan. “Huh, it does.” He’s got a tiny smile on his face, and Ryan wants to kiss it, so he does.

Connor kisses him back, and when he pulls away again, the tiny smile has grown three sizes and turned salacious. “Should we break this baby in, or do you not want to risk actually _breaking_ it?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Ryan snickers at how dumb Connor looks when he does that. “Who do you think I am?” he says in mock outrage. “I checked reviews, McDavid. This is a very sturdy couch.” 

“Fuck, of course you did,” Connor says, laughing. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“That’s why you love me,” Ryan teases.

“Yep,” Connor agrees easily. “Sure is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned for the Dylan/Auston/Mitch sequel, in which Sad Desert Raccoon becomes Less Sad. Maybe.
> 
> [Follow me on Twitter](http://twitter.com/thistidalwave) for more content that lacks all semblance of emotional restraint.


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